
FT MEADE 
GenCol 1 


»•' > *'■ ■ »! 
^ ; ‘ T ;! 


. j, > 


f rf.’ .it . : 

.■,-..vv..'- ■;••.■••’ ■' 


V !»• ^ 

* • Vi ••■■’. . ; > 

V.' * 


• ’ V V • 


iv .' s ■ V* A ^Vv 


•• i • •'. •' 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


‘f u* 


elf 


Wy 


UNITED OF AMERICA. 






r: 




< •; 'f‘, ; . ,* V' ■ ■ ■ ■ , ^v: - '■ 



i 7'-^. 


V . • y • 


I 


I 


■ ■« *, 




•' * -r^ « 




v> 




’ :■•“) 


‘T 


.r.' 


wjOTJS'' ^ ' •"' 

iv^^s ;• 'A.'i ;,:■ >.■■.< '7 . , . .. ; ;, ,. 


V 


■f ,. 




*.‘?^rv' ‘V^ s'.-'-'i v■^^ ■'* ' .* 'T >'Ar3KKrl 

;* ■< , ^ / ■• ,y ., / . ' »■. ' I^H •>♦ C* 1 





V' ’ « V 


u 


hj%i' 


, ■::r''^V^ 


y.tj 


■ ^ .. 






% 







* • • Mil 




' ' ' .iv' .^"•“ 




rw 


c ‘ ■-Afml : < j--m 


a^5r- f. ■ Vr^;;:^ ' ‘. '^KjM 


y:/\\ 


.< ■ ■.,»* . ■'t‘.V > 






kPv? 




;■'/ - .L't' 




‘■•V- 




<* 




::':m 




LV 


•jaoi’ Y 
'i««V 


.V'i •'* 

"VJf,. *./ '^A*i ' ,^J 
Li*'’ ! i 


* * .' 


/' '■ 






> ■ » s 


» * 


: a - 


•vj 


V Ji bv 


7 .?' 






4 V k. 


' ' * , n *1 f 

. jB Hfl 


'>:v 








•r’ 




♦) 






o ; 


lI f r . 


.1^' 


,1 i 


V • V* 






iTJ 


VrLTM Tfl g^* ^ •‘3"*' 


i ','■ * 

'♦' <"r • ^ d . ' 

■ L.;.'^ -M • ' -’ ' 




, s 




*. I I 


'; *, 




‘li-' : 


v^ 


»’ *.r 


'viV 






;Ay 1 


,V^ 

'*' V^ I- ♦ >* I 

HkvA’ 

■/.7. V.v 

' w ;i‘.T 


LVI •» 


'I; 



.:i 


’ V 


w ■ 


■r 


•• ..xis 


'.'-V 


'M 




7 /. 




'■> ' ' .'* viL-iilR '■'^' ^ ■ 

: ^ '^*7'^ ■ .^Wii ’ ■' * 


l..i • 


y.i 


..V 




^Tiar.i 


y*' \ ,'V 


1: ^ 


m 


S ' 


v !- 1 




f f ■ y . I 


/ S// it-'d 


: [. r ■ 




As, 


v/^Y. V 




ks, 


’\> 


<L) ' 


•t 


i 

' -■: '^>i' A , 




f .■ 


u 






• ■ LaJ 


:& 




m 


•Au. . 




iNJrl 






\ *■ 


y l" 


i f 


V 




;I^Y 


iV 


M 






o-' 




" S'k ' •'"■k''] • .'■" ■! '.'■ ^ 

li-i' 'v . .V. -, 




• } %Ja,. . •! ■••^' ^C’if 








: ■ 


I > M 


• V ■ 






i rS'ii « liV'V' 



#'. W' 
V..V' v 








B^-' :- ^ ^ ^ ' • -: 


^ r. * ' 




;l-r • 

iV--v - 


•»*. 

■ 


u.- 




o'; •• '-■■■'f-'TJSj^v 


«• 


# 

.-^5 


«-) 


• . '« y — • 


. V •-■ 


m». . 


4 .< - 

- « . 


.it 


t > ‘ 'V-''- 


: - 5 


• Ayr 




. ^ •. •'. ' 

» '••^ * ■'I 




^ , 

0 

1^* 


-/ V i 


::^-M 


*v.f 






f. 


.‘i • 


.-^t- 


<?■ 

t'H* 


8r^ > '■- . ;' * 

V, . ^.••- *• •• • ^.•*f 
\ - :/ 


a 


.<■ » k 




^ ' 


' r " 



•i g. rfN' - 

nY iw iM ^ \ 



^ %« 
• «. 




o'^s r. ' 








■•t 




•V 

.# 




■•J'Vji 


•I 


. ^ 




• N 


■# 


. • r 

-T - Ty - « ^ 

* V wV‘A—V ’ 

•. . • -- 


•< ». 




4«i 




A.' 


5^11 V' - ' 


■■ ■■^‘ ' • ■. 


4v* 






4 

‘-1 • 


:?• X 




^ , 








'. » 


f 



A. '■ 

Vr 






• - i 


i . •* '., ->• X'* 

i*^^* %" Y *. • *^* ■ < 

It .7 -A " 

{^'.>t .V-.J.Vy *i‘ ’ 

r^-V ' ^ ■'■■ -*' • ' 


<- 

.. y 


’ '* '. ' ' V • ' 


jr 


.V * 




• • 


‘X . 

■ 


v'/' 


.^f. ? V '■ ' '• 




• < 


A 


., -v^-l 



V* >OA* / 








rmiiaR z;oiaA’s 


Powerful Realistic Novels. 



FTER reading Zola’s novels it seems as if in all others, even 


in the truest there were a veil between the reader and the 
things described, and there is present to our mind the same differ- 
ence as exists between the representations of human faces on canvas 
and the reflection of the same faces in the mirror. It is like finding 
truth for the first time ,” — Signor de Amicis. 

NANA. Translated from the 127th French edition. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. Translated from the 97th French edition. 

POT BOUILLEl (Piping Hot I). Translated from the 
87th French edition. 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE. Translated from the 
84th French edition, 

LA TERRE. M. Zola says of this, one of his latest works, 
“I have endeavored to deal with the French peasant in this book, 
just as I dealt with the Paris workman in “ L’Assommoir,” I have 
endeavored to write his history, to describe his manners, passions 
and sorrows in the fatal situations and circumstances in which he 
finds himself.” 

THE DREAM. Zola’s latest work — ^just published. 


LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS. CHICAGO. 

Price, in paper covers, printed from large type on fine paper, 35 
cents a volume ; elegantly bound in extra silk cloth and 
illustrated, 75 cents. Sent post-paid on receipt of price. 


Jl?e Fdisoij p^imeo^rapl7 

2H5KNIPOLDS 

AUTOGRAPHIC AND TYPEWRITER LETTERS 

DRAIVJNGS, MUSIC, Etc. 


^4 

3,000 COPIES FROM ONE STENCIL. 

Gan tie used by?i^YDiiB successfally. 

The BASIBST, 

SIMPLEST, and the ONLY PRAOTIOAI, 

Reduplioating Deviee* 


Endorsed by the U. S. Government, State Government Officials, 200 
Railroads, as well as the leading business firms throughout the world* 


SEND FOR CIRCULAR AND SAMPLES. OF WORK. 

75. B. DICK C07W5P75NV, 

152*164 LAKE STREET, 

CHICAGO. 






r 








•XaW 








MEXICAN BILL 


THE COWBOY DETECTIVE 


BY 

“NEVADA NED."/^- 

Author of “The King of Gold,” “Convict 72,” Etc 

cf. 


Copyright 1889 

By laird & LEE 


The Pinkerton Detective Series. Issued Monthly. By Subscription $3.00 per 
annum. Vol. 26, April, 1889. Entered at Chicago Postoffice as 
second-class matter. 



LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 

1889 


Nana’s Daughter, 

A STORY OF PARISIAN LIFE 

— BY— 

ALFRED SIRVEN and HENRI LEVERDIER, 

With a lettei from the authors to M. Emile Zola. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE 25tli FRENCH EDITION 


When M. Emile Zola wrote “ Nana,” the world thought that no truer 
photograph of the kaleido.scopic life w'hich is so truly and essentially 
Parisian could be brought out by any other author. It remained for 
Alfred Sirven and Henri Leverdier to combine French wit, ingenuity and 
realistic word-painting to disapprove this opinion. 

“ Nana’s Daughter,” by these gentlemen, faithfully portrays, with 
graphic lights and shadows, that zone of Parisian life from which the beau 
monde gathers all that is chic^ Frenchy and worldly. 

The character of Nana’s daughter, in vivid contrast to her mother, 
that queen of the demi-monde^ shines like a pure crystal amid the sordid 
surroundings and demoniacal plots which at times almost engulphed her, 
and, irredescent to the last, remains untarnished and spotless, a tribute to 
virtue. 

The book maintains its thrilling interest to the very end. The charae* 
ters are skillfully sketched, and the plot most interestingly complicated. 


m SALE ON ALL TRAINS, AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 


Stent by man postpaid on receipt of prioe. 

LAIRD 8c LEE, Publi&hdps, 

CHICA©a 


CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE. 

CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. — ^The Murder on the Chihuahua 
Trail ------ 7 

II. — An Infant’s Wail - - - 13 

THE STORY. 

I. — Mexican Bill - - - - 19 

II. — The Story of Three Brothers 28 

III. — An Attack by Bandits - - 36 

IV. — A Mysterious Interview - - 45 

V. — Valuable Information - - 55 

VI. — The Missing Girl - - - 63 

VII. — “ In the Hands of the Philis- 
tines” - - - - - -70 

VIII. — The Scheme Develops Itself - 75 
IX. — Scheme Number Two - - - 89 

X. — Warned — Scheme Number Three 96 
XL — The Arrival of Mordaunt Dag- 
gett ------ 106 

XII. — The Secret of the Tin Box - 114 

XIII. — The Flight — The Pursuit - - 122 

XIV. — The Battle in the Mountains - 129 

XV. — Bartholomew and Bassett - 136 
XVI. — Dirty Antonio’s Treachery - 144 

XVII.— Saved from Death - - - 151 

XVIII. — The Repulse of the Bandits - 158 
XIX. — Millicent’s Peril - - - 167 

XX. — A Startling Revelation - - 176 

XXL— Conclusion 185 

Mexican Bill 


G. A. R. 

Or, How She Married His Double. 


By EDWARD R. ROE. 


“The style of the writer is clear and sparkling, the tone of the novel is 
highly loyal and patriotic, and it is just such a book as in the hands of the gener- 
ation born since the war is calculated to do much good.” — Ohio State Journal, 

“Just enough of romance is woven into the plot to maintain the interest of 
the individuals connected therewith. It is a good story, patriotic in tone and 
valuable in a historic sense. Mr. Roe is an easy and fascinating writer, and the 
book is one of the best productions of his diligent pen.” — Bloomington Leader. 

“ The plot and its developments are very entertaining.” — Fargo Sunday Argus. 

“ Dr. Edward R. Roe never fails to interest his readers. His latest story, just 
published by Messrs. Laird & Lee, Chicago, entitled ‘‘G. A. R.; or. How She Mar- 
ried His Double,” is among his best. It is a story of the war of the rebellion, full 
of graphic pictures and exciting incidents. There is not a dull chapter in the 
book. — Chicago Inter Ocean. 

“ The plot Is well conceived, and the story is of great interest. — Columbus 
Herald. 

“ It is an interesting novel. Those who have the authors previous books will, 
no doubt, welcome this volume. ' ’ — Syracuse Herald. 

“It is a well told story.” — Lincoln State Journal, 

“ The plot is an intricate one, and is well worked out to the finale.”— 
lyn Union. 


LAIRD LEE, Publishers, 

CHICAGO. 


Price, in paper covers, 85 cents ; elegantly bound in silk cloth, 
gold embossed, and illustrated, 75 cents. Sent postpaid on 
receipt of price. 


MEXICAN BILL 


PROLOGUE. 

CHAPTER 1. 

THE MURDER ON THE CHIHUAHUA TRAIL. 

The blazing sun of August is shining, burning 
upon the dusty trail which extends far across the 
dry, almost withered, prairie as far as the eye can 
reach ■ — the Chihuahua trail. 

The stillness of death reigns supreme over all. 
Not a sound of life is heard, and a chance observer 
of this scene of desolate solitude would, from the 
unpleasant feeling of loneliness, oppressive heat, 
and general desertion of everything of life, plainly 
discernible, put spurs to his pony and leave it far 
behind him. 

But this unattractive spot is soon to be the scene 
of horrible crime, of man’s insatiate passion for that 
glittering metal, for the possession of which thou- 
sands have sacrificed every noble feeling, every 
qualm of outraged conscience ; sold even their very 
souls — gold ! 

The afternoon is already far advanced. In a few 
short hours the burning king of the heavens will 


8 


MEXICAN BILL 


sink into the western horizon, and the parched earth 
will feel the relief from his fierce presence. The 
withered grasses will look up to the sky, absorbing 
the dews with grateful thankfulness. 

But the sun has not yet set. He is to be the 
silent observer of a scene of bloodshed. See! Far 
to the east a faint cloud appears — not in the sky, 
but from the earth — a cloud of blinding dust; and 
soon after, another in the west. 

An experienced scout would say that two par- 
ties are approaching each other, two mounted 
parties, and that the dust is driven into the air 
from the hoofs of their horses coming in contact 
with the dry earth. 

The surmise would be correct, for two parties are 
drawing near each other. They must meet in an 
hour, and pass each other on the trail. As yet, 
each is unaware of the proximity of the other, as 
they are some miles apart; and so, while waiting 
for the meeting which must soon take place, we 
will approach the cloud of dust which appears in 
the east, and observe the approach of those who 
are as yet unknown, and whose ponies are the 
cause of the disturbance of the loose, dry sand. 

Two men. The first, mounted on a small broncho, 
is a man of apparently thirty years of age. The 
expression of his face is one of eagerness mixed 
with anxiety; the dark eyes are fixed upon the 
ground with a look of unutterable melancholy. He 
is not observing how painfully the little beast he 
is riding is panting, how the worn-out, weary limbs 
of the pony tremble, as with difficulty he proceeds 


THE MURDER ON THE CHIHUAHUA TRAIL 9 

upon his way; he only sees the prairie beneath 
him, clutches tightly with one hand the bridle 
rein, while with the other he holds in their place 
upon the saddle before him four bags of some 
weighty substance. 

** Oh, God ; if I should be too late ! ” is the thought 
that surges through his fevered brain. 

The other is a man much older; a man whose 
pale face expresses both weariness and fear. With 
a trembling hand he wipes the beads of perspira- 
tion from his forehead, mentally cursing the intense 
heat, wondering how long he will be able to bear 
up under it. 

But he follows on after the other, urging his pony 
to greater exertion when the jaded beast shows 
signs of relaxing from the gallop which he has been 
obliged to keep up for hours. 

It is a mission of life or death that causes these 
two to hurry on through the burning heat of this 
August afternoon. They must keep on as long as 
their ponies can stand upon their limbs. Even if 
they fall deadjin their tracks, they must urge them 
on, for their death is but little matter — the life of 
another depends upon their exertions. 

Yes, a mission of life or death; for that anxious 
man guards, that weary pony carries, the price of 
a woman’s life — a ransom for a beloved wife. 

The man upon the first pony is Hugh Daggett ; 
he who follows him, his servant, Peter Daniels. 

Hugh Daggett is one of three brothers, the sons 
of Algernon Daggett, a wealthy manufacturer of 
Birmingham, England. He has had the misfortune 


lO 


MEXICAN BILL 


to displease his father, by wedding one beneath 
him, as the father thinks, the beautiful but poor 
child of a low-class inn-keeper. They have quar- 
reled, father and son, and, the independent spirit of 
the young man asserting itself, he has left his 
father’s house, bringing his young wife to America, 
accompanied by the servant who has been his 
friend since boyhood. 

They have come West, and one night, while 
encamped, they are attacked by a party of bandits, 
led by the cruel Juan Valdoso. The wife is taken 
into captivity, and the frantic young husband told 
that if, inside of two weeks, he cannot produce five 
thousand dollars in gold, she will be put to death. 
The loving husband has been allowed to go for the 
money. He has that sum deposited in a bank at 
Santa Fe; has left it there for safe keeping, until 
he has finished prospecting and settled down. 

So, accompanied by the servant, Daniels, he 
hurries to Santa Fe. 

It will leave him a poor man — the payment of 
this money — but the wife he loves is more to him 
than all the wealth of the universe. He is now on 
his way to pay the price of his wife’s ransom. The 
time allotted expires at midnight of this day, and 
he knows that the hard-hearted monster who has 
terrorized the country will keep his word. So 
hurry on, good ponies. Do not relax your efforts. 
The sweet young wife must be saved. The hus- 
band’s heart must be made glad again. With an 
effort, the servant urges his pony to his master’s 
side. 


THE MURDER ON THE CHIHUAHUA TRAIL II 


I ’ope we will be in time, sir,” he says, wiping 
his forehead. 

“ Pray, Peter! Pray God that it may be so,” 
answers the master. 

I ’as been prayin’, sir, for hours. But we ’as a 
long way yet, sir, an’ the sun is unpleasantly ’ot. 
I don’t know as ’ow the ponies stand it, sir.” 

“ They stand it I Even if they drop dead 
beneath us, we must hurry on. Oh God! My 
wife ! ” and he puts the spurs to the jaded beast. 
Daniels drops behind his master again, his aged 
face looking sad and fearful. His weary eyes 
scan the horizon. 

What is it that awakens that look of interest in 
their faded depths? A cloud of dust / 

He calls his master’s attention to it. 

Hugh Daggett shades his eyes with one hand, 
anxious, disturbed. “ Some one is approaching 
us,” he says, a feeling of fear piercing his heart. 

But he does not slacken the pace of his pony. 
Friends or enemies, they must be encountered, 
and, with a fervent prayer to Heaven, hehurrieson. 

In a short time the approaching party can be 
discerned plainly, and, with a sinking feeling at 
heart, the husband recognizes them. He knows 
the gaudy, dust-stained costume. He remembers 
some of the fierce faces. They are a part of Val- 
doso’s band. The foremost he recognizes as 
Pietro Alvarez, Valdoso’s lieutenant, a man as 
bloodthirsty and cruel as his master, and he is 
accompanied by four of the worst members of the 
cut-throat band. 


12 


MEXICAN BILL 


‘‘ What can they want? ” flashes through his 
mind. 

Further thought is rendered impossible, as the 
party is upon him, Alvarez riding up to his side. 

“ Ha, senor! You have got the ransom? My 
chief has sent me out to meet you, to see that you 
did not break faith by bringing a company of sol- 
diers with you. Not that he fears them. No, no! 
Ha, ha! We have had many encounters with them; 
but, to be sure, we would not be surprised.” 

The black-visaged lieutenant reins in his rearing 
pony, and rides by the side of the anxious man. 

“ Yes; I have the ransom,” he answers, looking 
about him fearfully. 

“ Good; and to-night you can take your pretty 
little wife, and go your way. Ride on. We will 
ride behind you, guard you. Ride on.” 

The husband, hurrying to her he loves better 
than life, feels somewhat easier in his mind. Evi- 
dently this man is speaking truthfully. He has 
been sent out by Valdoso to guard against acci- 
dent or breach of faith. So he rides on in advance 
of the others. 

He does not know that the villain Alvarez has 
lied; does not know that he and his companion 
have come out to meet him, to possess themselves 
of the gold which is to ransom the beloved one in 
the midst of such great danger. 

For once, at least, the hackneyed saying, that 
“ there is honor among thieves,” is radically wrong; 
for Alvarez is about to prove treacherous to his 




' • ^ . <» • ' - V 




J , 



'.:'i>. ,'■ .^^' ^r,: ,^';'?W**. ■ ■ - ''•' > -.-' f ■' - 

.- ‘_ '• ** ■*• •. ^ " *V- ,.• >^.‘*^^.‘ '! . r^'rrjT-' ’ • .* - ' '- '■ '■'iS 

/■' ■• -* - i *- --• ^ ' »A 

'C • •“ IMF ^ ^ ^ 








v' - v; .: 


■■ -■•■ 'C •* ■-- '* - .. . 


• A 


_ » e 


\ I 


. » 



y^' * • 

•r • -•. •, 




• i '' 


*1 - 


M >■ 


.J* 









i ‘ 




; 


V - 




Y 


\ » 


>' - 


4 ;' 



f. ,:^^P 


» 

. ♦ ■ • 





^ 'V 


.\^,k ■: • ^ 

. ’ ' wt^ V * 


f t - ' - 


‘ . , V * • - c . 

r • - - T- f 4.-' 



•■ I • , . J: V ^ - ■ . ' ’ • . 

.-'»-• . • j*®’- - • ■•-'* • .-' .^ i . ■ ; 

^ - *• ■ • “ . :■ : - . . ■ *.• ^ 




' -V?., 


< 

• I 


.Six * 


.4.J 


■ 


> f ^ 


■ ~ 

w '*> 


- 'c 

* ^ y» 

* •'-. ^rv ■ 




T 

V- 

<‘ i • 


• -* -• ^*j ' ' . I 

• *>v 


*> ‘■i 


■rjr‘ ^ .iy'. » *.• *• 

I,- ' ‘ s ■ i — '* 

, ; . \ ‘ • '■r/':*--' • .^5 

/ • 


.i^ 




1 

•A 


y 


..v« 


,x 


* ■ 


•.. ^.- C 
•tf *. A 


>,• 

', •* ' • . 


1.V 


V# • 


3- •- 

• ■ 



t. .:‘ 1' , • ;l 




• ' A - ' :. 

.JU. : ■ ' • . ■ . /'i< .- V’»-,- 
.'■■■ 'X ■ ■ '■• 

• 'V ■■ - 4 • • • 

• ‘ . , *4- •* ■ A • • -• . 


^ ■ 


• • 


\' 


A 


I V 


< i 


o C. 


r .• 


✓ ' ** 


*• 


'V 



*' ,4 




J. 


. •« 



• - 4 ^ V > 

t -:r 


A# 


i' ‘ 


t 

• «. 






. < 

r'? 


4* VI X 


•'V?* -'" 

. t . ; ►...►' ■ 

V 




• * 


* ^ ^ r ' 


<, 


• A- 




• 9 
> 

V V 


• . */!' •' 

, ?c ' • . 






> ' 
s" 


•• * 




• ••> 


V •< , 

• t 


tv; 



• I 


^ u 





MEXICAN BILL— Page 13. 




THE MURDER ON THE CHIHUAHUA TRAIL 13 

master, and is only waiting until the two men are 
off their guard to possess himself of the gold. 

The time comes. Two pistol-shots ring out on 
the air, two cries to Heaven, as master and man 
throw up their hands to the sky, and fall headlong 
from their saddles to the parched earth. Then, 
with a triumphant cry, the murderers ride down 
the startled pony which bears the gold, and, dividing 
it, gallop off to the east. 

The sun shines on calmly, majestically, to the 
western horizon, and sinks, red as the crimson tide 
which dyes the parched earth, where lie two mur- 
dered ones. Night comes on apace. 

The moon rises, her mellow reflection shining 
upon the Chihuahua trail — upon two ghastly faces 
upturned to the sky. 

CHAPTER II. 

AN infant’s wail. 

The flickering, uncertain light of a rude lamp 
faintly illumes the interior of a wild, weird cavern; 
throws its feeble rays upon the stone walls, 
draped with the skins of wild animals, and the 
blankets made by that strange race, the Navajoes, 
rich fabrics, priceless in value; reflects upon two of 
human kind, both of the gentle sex, but as widely at 
variance as day and night — one, a withered old hag, 
who rocks to and fro upon a low stool, crooning 
some quaint melody to herself, while she watches 
the varying expressions upon the countenance of 


14 


MEXICAN BILL 


the Other, a girl of divine beauty, who lies upon a 
bed of skins near her. 

The motionless one upon the couch faintly moans 
in her slumbers, for she is sleeping. The parted 
lips form one word, “ Hugh.” She is dreaming. 
Suddenly she awakens. With fearful, wild eyes, 
she glances about the place, and, remembering 
where she is, closes her eyes, with a deep-drawn 
sigh. She lies perfectly still for the instant; then, 
with an effort, turns on her side, and murmurs: 

“ My husband — has he returned?” 

The hag ceases her monotonous chant, and, with- 
out changing her position, mumbles, in broken 
English : 

“ No see him; he come, deary; never fret.” 

“ Oh that it may be soon ! ” she murmurs. 

Poor child, your husband is lying far out on the 
prairie, his loving heart stilled in death; his sight- 
less eyes raised to the moonlit sky. 

She lies, with her radiant eyes fixed upon the 
roof of the cave. She is suffering great pain, but 
bravely keeps it to herself; only waiting, only 
praying, that he, her husband, may reach her in 
time. If he fails, she must die; and to die without 
seeing him, without feeling the clasp of his loving * 
arm — it is horrible. She turns her head; she 
cannot think of it. 

The blankets which form the entrance to the 
cave are rudely thrust aside. Some one is enter- 
ing; but she does not show by any sign that she 
observes it. 

It is the chief of the band, Juan Valdoso, and 


AN infant’s wail 


15 


he is followed by a woman of rare beauty — a 
woman whose raven black hair falls in heavy masses 
to her waist ; a woman clothed in rich, barbaric 
magnificence. 

The man strides to the side of the couch. 

“Is she awake?” he asks, in Spanish, of the 
crone, who does not move at his entrance. 

“ Yes ; awake, and thinking of her loved one,” 
comes the answer, also in the same tongue. 

“ She had better think of him,” he answers, 
brutally, “ for, if he is not here in an hour, she 
dies.” 

The woman who has followed him in, now 
approaches the couch. She looks down upon the 
pale, beautiful face. 

“ It is cruel,” she murmurs. “ O Juan, he may 
be delayed a few hours. Give her some respite. ” 

The man turns upon her. “ I am master here, 
Pepita,” he says ; “ I never break my word. If the 
man is not here in one hour, she dies.” 

His voice has, unconsciously, increased in vol- 
ume as he speaks the last words. The suffering 
creature opens her eyes. “ Has he come? ” she 
asks, feebly, but oh, so hopelessly. 

“ No, senora,” answers she who has been called 
Pepita. “ There is an hour yet.” 

An hour — sixty short minutes ! She lies, and 
counts away five of them. Only fifty-five now. 
“ Oh hasten my husband to me,” she murmurs. 

The bandit looks down upon her suspiciously. 

“ You are sure your husband has this money in 
Santa Fe ? ” he asks. 


i6 


MEXICAN BILL 


“Yes! yes! It was to have purchased stock for 
the little home we were looking for,” she answers, 
wearily. She knows that the little stock farm will 
have to wait if this money is paid. 

“ Well, he had better hurry, or it will be too 
late.” 

The hard-hearted wretch speaks plainly in En- 
glish. The young creature hears him, and under- 
stands his meaning. 

She makes an effort to rise from the couch; but 
a spasm of pain overcomes her, and she falls back 
with a moan. 

The old hag runs to her. “ You had better leave 
her,” she says, in a low, warning tone. 

“ Leave her! Why? ” 

The woman Pepita is by her side, bending over 
the sick one. She looks up, her dark eyes flash- 
ing. “You brute! Can you not comprehend?” 
she cries. 

The black-visaged villain scowls. “ I begin to 
understand,” he mumbled. “ But, remember; no 
matter what happens, if he is not here, she dies.” 

Pepita springs to her feet. She faces him, and 
cries, in her native tongue: “ God may see fit, in 
His wisdom, to rob you of your victim; to place 
her beyond ransom. ” 

A startled look comes to the eyes of the man. 
“ Do you think she is likely to die? ” he cries. 

“ It may be. Go. Your presence will do more 
toward killing her than anything else.” 

With an imperious gesture the woman point to 


AN infant’s wail 

the entrance, and, with a scowl and a muttered 
curse, the bandit king leaves the cave. 

The sufferings of the woman upon the couch are 
terrible to behold. With wide staring eyes, she 
writhes in agony untold. The minutes speed by. 
Still the husband does not come; still the wife 
suffers, until at last, with a cry that echoes through 
the place, with one last agonizing convulsion, the 
loved wife of Hugh Daggett stretches out her 
white, beautiful arms. The pale lips part, and, 
with the name on her lips of him for whom she is 
waiting, him who is deaf to her cries, she falls back on 
the couch. 

Hugh, darling, I come! ” 

She is dead. 

Two women bend over her. One takes some- 
thing from the woman’s side, and wraps it carefully 
in a soft skin. 

The chief enters the cave. 

“ The hour has come! ” he cries. 

He stops, and looks upon the scene before him; 
stops and gazes, spell-bound, at the burden the hag 
is holding in her arms; hears that which moves 
him, heartless villain that he is — an infant’s wail; 
the feeble, pitiful cry of a new-born babe for its 
mother. The woman Pepita looks up into the face 
of the chief. 

“ God has spared you the sin of her death! ” she 
says. “He has taken her. See — this is the 
mother’s ransom.” 

There are tears in her eyes. 

Mexican Bill £ 


I 


MEXICAN BILL 


He turns and strides from the cave. 

With tender care the woman prepares food for 
the child, who, feeling satisfied, smiles. 

Poor fatherless, motherless waif, smiling at its 
mother in Heaven. 


THE STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

MEXICAN BILL. 

WHIR-R-R — ding ! 

The electric annunciator sounds with emphatic 
distinctness. 

The clerk, who has been standing in the door of 
the hotel, turns to the indicator, and murmurs, 

“ No. 28,” and then strikes the large bell upon the 
desk, to summon the bell-boy. 

“ No. 28,” he says, as that worthy makes his 
appearance. 

Number 28 is upon the floor above, and the bell- 
boy (a man, in point of years) hurries to the room 
and taps upon the door. 

It opens, disclosing the smooth-shaven face of a ' 
middle-aged man, with evident impatience depicted 
on every lineament of his shrewd, cunning coun- 
tenance. 

“ You rang, sir? 

“ Yes ; has there been any one inquiring for 
me? ” 


19 


20 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Name, sir? ” 

“ Bartholomew — Alexander Bartholomew. ** 

“ I can’t say, sir. I’ll go see,” and he turns to 
go. The man calls after him : 

“ If any one has been here, see if they left any 
message ; if any one should happen to call, show 
’em up. Don’t stop to bother about cards and all 
that sort of thing ; show ’em up at once. Under- 
stand ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The door closes ; the man hurries down-stairs. 
He finds that Alexander Bartholomew has been the 
only arrival by the last train, and that no one has 
called to see him. 

He takes the information to that gentleman. 

“No one at all, eh? What time does your next 
train arrive? ” 

“ Atchison, Topeka & Santa F^, at three twenty- 
two; the others ” 

“ Never mind the others; that is the one I am 
interested in. You may go.” 

The man goes, and Bartholomew looks at his 
watch, a large, open-faced gold affair, looking as 
clean and methodical as its owner. 

“ Two fifty-one,” he mutters. “ He will surely 
be here on the next train. I rather thought he 
would be here before me; but it seems I got here 
first.” 

He restores the timepiece to its resting-place, 
immediately over his capacious stomach, and, tak- 
ing a chair, draws it up to the table, and begins 


MEXICAN BILL 


21 


the reading of several letters which he takes from 
his pocket. 

Evidently the perusal of these epistles affords him 
much pleasure, for he smiles in a self-satisfied 
manner, and replaces them in his coat. 

“ This promises to be a well-paying case for 
me,” he chuckles; “ shows the effect of judicious 
advertising. If I had not sent that little ^ ad * to 
the London papers, I would not have had this case. 
Ah, it is a good idea to let your light shine out 
before you, and not cover it with a bushel,” and he 
chuckles again. 

Alexander Bartholomew is a well-to-do lawyer 
of San Francisco. Shrewd, cunning, he makes the 
most of every one and everything. His cordial 
greeting, his pleasant smile, have secured him hosts 
of well-paying clients. His favorite saying, 
” politeness costs nothing,” has been fully exem- 
plified in his daily actions. He believes it, and uses 
plenty of that rare commodity, which, although so 
cheap, is disregarded by many. He also reasons, 
that every man has a flattering opinion of himself, 
and never forgets to appeal to that side of man’s 
character. “ More flies can be caught by molasses 
than vinegar,” he has been heard to remark, and 
his manner has never belied his firm faith in that 
old but very true saying. He advertises exten- 
sively, and it has been the means of bringing him 
in a plentiful harvest. 

He has never been considered altogether un- 
scrupulous, this man; but he never allows a little 


22 


MEXICAN BILL 


misrepresentation of facts to stand in the way of 
business. 

He has made it a rule to always understand the 
most minute details of every case he has been called 
upon to officiate in. That is, he has given his 
clients to believe that he understood, whether he 
did or not. 

It is a comparatively easy matter to lead an 
ignorant one to believe you well posted, as, in their 
ignorance, they cannot contradict you, and a wise 
look, a cunning wink of the eye, will convey much 
without meaning anything. 

Such a man is Alexander Bartholomew, attorney 
at law; he is aroused from his pleasant reverie by a 
double knock upon the door. 

“ My man! ” he cries, and opens it. 

“ Gentleman to see you,” announces the bell-boy, 
and hurries down the hall. 

Bartholomew, with a broad smile, bids his visitor 
enter. 

The stranger, who has been hidden by the bell- 
boy, bows and accepts the invitation. 

He is a very short man; a very thin man, and a 
very quiet man. 

Draped neatly, with small, well-trimmed side 
whiskers, he looks like a school-boy masquerading, 
for in stature he is not above five feet; but he is 
not a boy, either in years or brain, for the quick, 
nervous eye, the corrugated forehead, show a man 
of thought; one quick to observe and retain. 

“ This is Mr. Bartholomew,” he says, with a 
quaint smile. 


MEXICAN BILL 


23 


Just so, and you are Mr. Bassett.” 

Isaac Bassett, at your service. ” 

“ Sit down. I have been expecting you, shall 
I say with eagerness? your letters have conveyed 
to me the man of business; short, concise, but to 
the point. Ah! I love such letters, Mr. Bassett. 
No wandering all over creation. No going around 
Robin Hood’s barn to convey their meaning, but 
coming right to the point.” 

“ My time is too valuable to wander, sir. Time 
is really money to me.” 

“ True, true; but you have doubtless observed, 
Mr. Bassett, that the majority of the world are 
sorely extravagant.” 

“Yes; but to business.” This quickly, a little 
impatiently. “ You have looked up this matter?” 

“ Yes; but have little information to impart. 
Your letters merely gave me an outline to work on. 
I have gone as far as I could. If I had known more, 
I should have been placed in a position to have 
extended my researches.” 

“ What have you discovered? ” 

“ Simply a corroboration of what you wrote me — 
that the party had come West, but had never been 
heard of since. I learned this much, however — 
that on the twelfth day of August, i860, a man by 
the name you wrote me drew five thousand dollars 
from the Santa Fe National Bank, and had gone, 
taking it with him. ” 

“ Ah! So he had money here.” 

“ Yes; had deposited it about two weeks pre- 
vious to the time he withdrew it. ” 


24 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ That is something, at any rate,” musingly. 

“ I had some thoughts of engaging a detective, 
as I could not conveniently leave my business for 
any great length of time to follow up the case; but 
I thought it best to wait until you arrived, as you 
wrote me you would soon follow your last com- 
munication, and so I did not engage one. I might 
say, I have spoken to one.” 

Ah! you have? Is he a man who would be 
likely to prove of service? ” 

“ The best man I know of. I believe he would 
move Heaven and earth to ferret out a mystery. ” 
The lawyer speaks eagerly. 

“ Such a man would be of great assistance. Can 
you lay your hand on him when you want him? ” 

“ I have provided for that. I thought that per- 
haps you might feel the advisability of engaging 
such a man, and so I took the liberty of making 
an appointment with him. He will be here to-day. 
In fact, I expect him every minute.” 

“ Good. You have taken an interest in the case. 
I am glad. I determined to employ your services. 

The name of this man ” 

" Is unknown — that is, his full name. Like many 
of the wild, daring spirits who abound in our west- 
ern country, he bears a sobriquet — that of Mexican 
Bill. Fart of his life has been passed as what is 
termed here a cow-puncher or cowboy; in fact, a 
herder of the vast flocks which graze upon our 
open prairies. He has given that up, however, 
but is thought to be still connected with a band of 
these brave, daring fellows, who render him valu- 


MEXICAN BILL 


25 


able assistance in case of battle with the bandits 
which infest our border, against whom he has waged 
bitter warfare for the past year or so. He is called 
the cowboy detective.” 

“ A peculiar sort of individual.” 

“ Decidedly. One who would startle your prim, 
methodical English police, but a man we can trust. 
There is not in the United States a man more dar- 
ing, more indefatigable than this man Mexican 
Bill ; and you have only to look into his honest 
eye to be convinced that he is the soul of honor 
and a gentleman; not what is strictly known by 
that name in fashionable circles, perhaps, but still 
a true exponent of what the word implies in itself. 
In fact, a western gentleman.” 

“ Thank you for your words of praise, Mr. Bar- 
tholomew. They say listeners never hear any good 
of themselves. I am an exception, I can see.” 

The words sound melodiously and full behind 
them. They both turn, and Mr. Bassett gives 
utterance to a cry of surprise and admiration as 
he beholds him who has just spoken to them. 

A man, probably of five-and-twenty, straight as 
an arrow, dark as a Spaniard, with long, flowing 
black hair rippling over his broad shoulders nearly 
to his waist, clad in a riding costume of dark cor- 
duroy, with.high boots, which come above his knees; 
a high, broad forehead; eyes firm, determined, 
soulful and gentle; an aquiline nose, seeming as if 
chiseled out of fine granite, so straight, so unde- 
viating is its outline. A heavy, curling black mus- 
tache hides the sensitive, manly mouth, which, 


26 


MEXICAN BILL 


open and smiling now, discloses a set of even white 
teeth. The collar of his blue flannel shirt is open 
at the neck, rolling back from the full throat, being 
held in place by a gold star, in which is set a dia- 
mond of purest water, but not of unusual size. 
As he walks toward Alexander Bartholomew, the 
rowels of his large Mexican spurs clank musically. 

“ Mexican Bill,” cries the lawyer, rising from his 
chair, and grasping the outstretched hand. 

“ No other,” answered the newcomer. “ I have 
come to keep my appointment.” 

“ Just in time, too. Allow me, Mr. Bassett; 
this is Mexican Bill, the best shot, the most reck- 
less rider, the keenest detective in the West.” 

“ Don’t pile it on too thick,” smiles the hero. 

“ Mexican Bill, this is Mr. Isaac Bassett, of 
London, England; one of the shrewdest lawyers of 
Great Britain.” 

The two men bow; Bill gracefully, Mr. Bassett 
with punctilious politeness, first casting a look of 
annoyance at his portly confrere. He does not 
like flattery, this man. “ Be seated sir,” he says, 
the introduction being over. 

The detective takes the' chair offered him. 

“ Mr. Bartholomew has been recommending you 
highly, sir,” the Englishman began. 

“ I overheard part of it,” interrupts the detect- 
ive. “ Rather too much, I think.” 

“ That remains to be seen, ” says the lawyer. 
“ If you are the man Mr. Bartholomew claims, you 
are just the man I want. The case I am in Amer- 
ica to attend to is rather a peculiar one, and will 


MEXICAN BILL 


27 


require the skill of an experienced man to ferret 
out. There is very little to work on; that is the 
hardest part of it; but still it may be enough. 
The pay will be sufficiently remunerative to spur 
on any one, and, if you think you would like to 
undertake the case, why, I should be pleased to 
have you do so.” 

“ Just so,” cries Mr. Bartholomew. He must 
have his word.” 

The detective turns with an easy gesture, and 
looks the little lawyer in the eyes. 

“ For some years past, Mr. Bassett, I have 
devoted myself to the hunting of criminals, and 
ferreting out mysteries. I have always met with 
success, for I believe that, in order to thoroughly 
understand these things, a man must think, and so 
I think. I study whys and wherefores, and gen- 
erally come to some conclusion, usually the correct 
one. Now, if you will kindly tell me what I am to 
do, I will try and do it, if it is honorable. Make it 
short. Cut out the big words, because I don’t 
understand them, and I will start in just as soon as 
you say. The sooner the better, for there ain’t 
anything made by dilly-dallying and tom foolery. ” 

So saying, the handsome detective waits for the 
lawyer to begin. 

“ You are right, sir; and, in order that you can 
thoroughly understand what you are to do, I will 
give the full and complete facts of the case.” 

And, composing himself comfortably in his chair, 
the diminutive lawyer slowly begins the story of his 


28 


MEXICAN BILL 


mission; the portly Bartholomew listening eagerly ; 
the detective quietly and thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE STORY OF THREE BROTHERS. 

“ In the year of ’59 Algernon Daggett, one of 
England’s most prosperous iron manufacturers, died, 
leaving his vast property to his three sons — Hugh, 
Trevylyn and Arthur. The words of the will (which 
I had the honor of drawing up) were to the effect 
that the money was to be evenly divided between 
the three, or, in case of the death of either, the 
share of that one was to go to the nearest surviv- 
ing relative. But the legatee must, in person, 
receive the money, and, in case of reputed death, 
positive proof must be furnished of the decease. 
Nothing very difficult to conform with the provisos 
of this will, you might say ; but, when I inform you 
that for twenty-five long years that money has 
remained at interest, undivided, you will agree with 
me that it is a decidedly difficult matter to do so. 
Why? From this fact : 

“ Three months previous to the death of the 
father, one of the sons — the youngest, Hugh — 
married, against his father’s wishes, the daughter of 
a low character, the keeper of a common public 
house. They quarreled, father and son, and the 
young man left his father’s house, vowing that he 
would never return. He never did. 

“ The boy disappeared as completely as though 


THE STORY OF THREE BROTHERS 


29 


the earth had opened and swallowed him up; and 
the old man, regretting his hasty words, having 
expended large sums of money without result, 
became overcome with grief — sorrow so intense 
that it ended his life. In making his will, but a few 
weeks before his death, he was very particular to 
have it worded so that neither of the remaining 
brothers could inherit any portion of his fabulous 
wealth without the younger and best beloved also 
receiving his share. “ He will be found some day,” 
he said, and his father’s gold will assure him of 
his father’s forgiveness. ” After the death of the old 
man the sons came forward with another will 
which left the property to each, share and share 
alike, without the proviso contained in the other 
and later one. And, when I produced the last 
will and testament of the old man, they raised a 
great hue and cry. 

“ ' What have we to do with Hugh? ’ they cried. 
‘We have a right to our share of the property, 
whether he chooses to come and claim his or not.’ 
I explained that, according to their father’s wishes, 
as exemplified in his will, they could not claim a 
penny unless Hugh was found, or proven dead. 
They tested the validity of the document; but, 
after carrying it from one court to another for 
years, they finally gave it up, and began, what 
they should have done in the first place, to adver- 
tise for the brother. But the most persistent 
efforts in this direction were productive of no 
results. Hugh Daggett could not be found. 


30 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ In the meantime, Trevylyn, the oldest son, died, 
and the only remaining one, Arthur, gave up the 
search, trusting to fate to unravel what the most 
persistent efforts of man had failed to do, namely, 
the mystery surrounding the youngest brother’s 
disappearance. Trevylyn Daggett had been mar- 
ried, but his wife did not long survive her husband, 
and so the property of the eldest son of Algernon 
Daggett fell to his son, Mordaunt, who, at the time 
of the death of his parents, was about five years of 
age. He was taken by his uncle Arthur, and 
brought up in his own family, together with his 
young daughter, Millicent. 

“ The years passed. Mordaunt and Millicent had 
reached the age of twenty. (They were nearly of 
the same age.) Hugh Daggett had been nearly 
forgotten, when a circumstance occurred which 
again aroused interest in the affair, namely, the 
death of Hugh Daggett’s wife’s father. Two days 
after his decease a letter came through the post, in 
his handwriting, to Arthur, in which he stated that 
he knew where the missing man had gone, but had 
kept the knowledge to himself, through the feeling 
of hatred he bore the Daggetts; but, as he was on 
his deathbed, he had come to the conclusion that 
a dying man should not cherish malice, and so he 
would tell what he knew. He had received a let- 
ter from his daughter about a year after the disap- 
pearance of the young man, written at Chicago, in 
which she said that her husband was going West. 
Another letter, some weeks later, announced the 


THE STORY OF THREE BROTHERS 3 1 

arrival at Santa Fe, New Mexico, and that was the 
last he had heard from her. 

“ He gave the information for what it was worth, 
and hoped it might not be too late to find the 
missing man and his wife. 

“ The story of his grandfather’s will had been kept 
from young Mordaunt; but now everything was 
told him, and, his cupidity aroused, the young man 
spurred on his uncle to fresh endeavor. Again the 
papers of the world were brought into requisition, 
offering large rewards for information of Hugh 
Daggett or his heirs. But four years were passed 
without success, until, one day, a letter arrived, 
carefully worded, in which the writer stated that 
he could, if liberally paid, give some very valuable 
information. This letter came from the United 
States, postmarked Las Vegas, New Mexico, and 
signed Pietro Alvarez.” 

A sudden cry from the detective interrupted the 
speaker. 

“ Alvarez! I knew him well. ~ He is dead now.” 

So I have already ascertained. We investigated 
the matter; wrote Alvarez, but received no further 
communication from him In the columns of the 
San PVancisco Leader I saw the advertisement of 
our friend here, Mr. Bartholomew, and, also seeing 
him well spoken of in some other American and 
English papers as a man of integrity and perse- 
verance, I wrote him, thinking perhaps he might 
aid us by looking up this man Alvarez. He has 
rendered us valuable assistance, as far as it has 
been in his power to do so. From him we have 


32 


MEXICAN BILL 


learned of the death of Alvarez; also of the fact of 
Hugh Daggett having been in Santa Fe about the 
latter part of July or the first of August of the year 
i860, and later; that he drew money from the bank 
here — and there the matter rests. Mr. Arthur 
Daggett is the only remaining son now of the three. 
The share which would have gone to Trevylyn 
would fall to Mordaunt, and he is willing to expend 
large sums if a knowledge of the whereabouts of 
his uncle Hugh can be furnished, or conclusive and 
satisfactory proofs of his death established. So 
you see how the matter stands. " 

Bill does not make any reply; he is thinking, 
studying whys and wherefores; at last he says, 

“ You say Arthur Daggett has a daughter? 

“Yes; Millicent.” 

“ In case of the death of her father, she would 
come in for her father’s share of the property? ” 

“ Certainly, there is no other children, and her 
mother is dead.” 

“ And, if conclusive proofs of the death of Hugh 
Daggett are furnished, evidence that he died with- 
out an heir, what would become of his share? ” 

“ It would be equally divided between Arthur 
and young Mordaunt.” 

“ So ” — thinking a moment — “ does the young 
man know this?” 

“ Of course; he is no longer a boy; he must be 
nearly five and twenty. ” 

“ Honorable young fellow? Church member, 
and so on? or mercenary? ” 


THE STORY OF THREE BROTHERS 33 

“ Really, I can’t say; I have always thought him 
moral enough — honorable, I should think.” 

“ Does he seem to care for his cousin? That is, 
would you imagine, from what you have seen, that 
he would like to double up with her? ’ 

“ Double up! I don’t understand you, sir.” 

“ Oh; marry her? ” 

“ I believe there is a feeling of tenderness 
between the young people, but that would not be 
strange; they have been raised together from 
childhood.” 

“ Yes, that’s so. It would be a pretty good thing 
for this young fellow to marry his cousin, for, if it 
was found that Hugh Daggett was dead, and had 
left no children, all this big money would fall to him 
at the death of his uncle.” 

“ Yes; that is true.” 

“ He could well afford to pay well for positive 
information; perhaps would pay more for proofs 
of the death of his uncle Hugh, rather than informa- 
tion of him living. Don’t you think so? ” 

“ No; I believe that both Arthur and Mordaunt 
Daggett would feel pleased to find the long-lost 
relative.” 

“ Maybe; I won’t contradict you; but I’ll tell you 
what has been my experience through life. Take 
any poor man, and he may be a decent sort of fel- 
low, willing to help a comrade, glad to be of serv- 
ice. But give that same man a chance to get 
ahead, to get big money, and he’ll walk over his 
chums, and trample them down, to get the dust. 

Mexican Bill ^ 


34 


MEXICAN BILL 


Gold hardens a man’s heart. I guess that is pretty 
generally admitted.” 

“ In the majority, yes; but there are exceptions. ” 

“ Oh, yes; I am only speaking of the most of 
people. ” 

“ And I guess you’re right,” affirmed Bartholo- 
mew. 

“Well, what do you think of the case ?” and the 
English lawyer speaks somewhat curtly. He dis- 
likes superfluous conversation. 

“ Yes, to business,” cries Bill. 

“ Well,*I think it a pretty tight one; I happen to 
know nearly every man in this section, and I don’t 
know of any by the name of Daggett. I did know 
Pietro Alvarez. He was a pretty tough customer, 
stage robber, bandit, general all-round cut-throat. 
I have been connecting these things a little in my 
mind. Hugh Daggett drew five thousand dollars 
from the bank, here in Santa Fd, in i860. Pietro 
writes that he can furnish information of the missing 
man. Pietro is a desperate scoundrel, a thief. The 
five thousand and Alvarez might have been mixed 
up in some way. Perhaps Pietro relieved the 
man of the five thousand, and put him out of the 
way.” 

“ That might have been,” mused the Englishman. 

“ But would he have been willing to run the risk of 
arrest and punishment, in order to gain the reward 
offered. ” 

“ Hardly, but he might have had some scheme 
to work it. Mind, I do not say that Daggett was 
killed, he may be alive even now, living under an 


THE STORY OF THREE BROTHERS 


35 


assumed name, and Alvarez may have in some way 
discovered this; but, as he is dead, we cannot look 
for any information from that source.” 

'' Will you take the case?” 

A look of mild surprise on the handsome face of 
the detective. 

“ Why, of course I will. I have had less than 
this to work on several times, and have come out 
ahead. I’ll take your case. I have laid my plans 
already, that is, some of them; and you can bet 
that, if Hugh Daggett lives. I’ll find him. If he is 
dead. I’ll know it. You can depend on me. Give 
me time, and I’ll get there.” 

He speaks enthusiastically; his dark face aglow, 
his wonderful eyes flashing. 

“ What did I tell you! ” exclaimed Bartholomew. 

I told you he was the man.” 

Bassett, however, remains calm; he looks doubt- 
ful. 

I hope you may be successful,” he says. “ If 
you are, you will be liberally rewarded. I shall 
remain here for some time, probably not in Santa 
Fe, but a letter addressed me here will always 
reach me. I may take a trip to San Francisco. I 
shall visit your famous hot springs, at Las Vegas, 
at any rate. Let me hear from you as you pro- 
ceed; and, if you need the sinews of war, money, 
do not hesitate to let me know.” 

“ Good. I will begin at once. Good-day, gen- 
tlemen; you will hear from me.” And, with a 
graceful bow, he is gone. 

A man who means to succeed,” comments 


36 MEXICAN BILL 

Bartholomew, as the door closes behind the detect- 
ive. 

Evidently,” answers Bassett. 

CHAPTER III. 

AN ATTACK BY BANDITS. 

Sunset on the prairie. 

The gorgeous tints in the western sky, pink, now 
fiery red, softly intermingling with the delicate tints 
of green, purple, and amethyst, are worthy of the 
pencil of earth’s greatest artist. A sunset which, 
if painted in the glowing colors of nature’s artist, 
would insure fame and fortune to him who could 
transfer the beautiful scene, as it is, to canvas. 

Old Sol has been unusually oppressive this day, 
blazing down upon mother earth with fierce inten- 
sity since early morning, shining upon the wide 
prairie, upon the little cavalcade which has been 
struggling along through the almost unbearable 
heat since daybreak. 

A little party of seven. 

Seven horses, or, rather, the tough broncho, which 
alone seems capable of existing in this climate. 
Three white-covered wagons, which bring up the 
rear, and a homely-looking but serviceable burro, 
or Mexican donkey, which bears upon his back 
some of the baggage of the party. 

They are riding along at an easy pace. They are 
obliged to do so, or leave the wagon behind, and 
besides, the day has been too warm for violent 


AN ATTACK BY BANDITS 


37 


exercise. At the head of the little cavalcade is one 
of these characters so much read of, so much writ- 
ten about in the old frontier days; an old, griz- 
zled, long-haired scout, clad in buckskin from head 
to foot, with the ever-ready brace of six- 
shooters strapped around his waist, the repeating 
Winchester rifle slung across his broad shoulders. 
The weather-beaten face is tanned from many 
years' exposure to sun, wind and storm; but the 
keen eyes are as bright as ever, and scan the hori- 
zon with quick, watchful gaze, which insures safety 
from sudden attacks. For, although the redskins 
of the olden time are not so troublesome now as 
then; still, they are near the Mexican border, and 
there are fierce, bloodthirsty men who hesitate 
not one instant to shed human blood if there is 
prospect of making a harvest of gold — bandits, 
infinitely worse, more to be feared, than the most 
cruel savages. 

Old Buckskin Ben knows this, and, although he 
has not said one word to the little party of tourists, 
whom he is guiding; still, he keeps a sharp look- 
out. There is yet a distance of five miles to cover 
before they will reach the timber ‘^motte” where 
they are to encamp for the night, and it will be 
nearly dark before the spot is reached. 

A short distance behind the scout, finely mounted, 
ride three persons whose dress indicates the tour- 
ist — two men, one well along in years; the other, 
apparently of five and twenty, of medium stature, 
dark, handsome, carefully dressed in a well-fitting 
riding costume; and a beautiful girl — a girl such 


38 


MEXICAN BILL 


as poets delight to write of, as mankind rave 
about; fair as a lily, with flowing golden hair, 
which, unconfined beneath her broad hat, falls in 
rippling beauty to the symmetrical waist. One tiny 
hand, incased in a buckskin riding gauntlet, lightly 
holds the rein that guides her pony; the other, 
ungloved, sparkling with many costly rings, shades 
the large, beautiful eyes, as she observes, with 
open-mouthed surprise, the magnificent sunset. 

The two men are riding a little apart from their 
companion, and are discussing some important sub- 
ject in monotone. 

The balance of these riders are servants of these 
three; a stolid-looking, fat-faced fellow, a neat, 
dapper young man, and a lady. 

The wagons are propelled by the means of 
mules, driven by rough teamsters, and are fitted up 
as sleeping apartments for the travelers; the bag- 
gage and cooking utensils being carried under- 
neath. 

“ I sometimes doubt the wisdom of this step,” 
remarks the elderly gentleman to the other, as they 
go along. 

“ It would have been better to have allowed 
Bassett to have investigated the matter, rather than 
undertake it ourselves. True, the trip has been a 
pleasant one so far, but it seems to me that it is 
unnecessary.” 

The young man made a gesture of impatience. 

“ I have explained to you several times, Uncle 
Arthur, that Bassett could not have attended to it. 
He was already on his way to the States when the 


AN ATTACK BY BANDITS 


39 


letter came which brought the information. You 
saw by the tone of it that the writer would deal 
only with principles, and it is a matter of vital 
importance to us that this mystery should be 
cleared up. Just think of it! nearly one million 
pounds sterling stowed away in the vaults of a 
bank, when it should be ours. It is the only thing 
that could be done, and we have not many days to 
wait before we shall know all.” 

“ Perhaps you are right; but what would be the 
harm of communicating wdth Mr. Bassett? ” 

“ We can do so when we have had the interview 
with the party; a letter would not reach him in 
time now, we were not sure of his address when 
we arrived in New York.” 

“That is so. Well, I hope it will all be made 
plain to us, now that we have come so far, and 
taken such trouble.” 

“ I feel sure that it will. See! the letter speaks 
plainly.” 

And the young man takes a soiled and worn 
envelope from his pocket. Removing a sheet of 
note-paper therefrom, he read: 

“ I have read your advertisement offering £10,000 
reward for information regarding one Hugh Dag- 
gett, who left England in the year of 1859 or i860, 
coming to the United States and emigrating to 
New Mexico. I can give you the information 
desired, for I knew Hugh Daggett, and know what 
became of him. I also know why he left his home, 
and several other things which may be of interest 
to you. If you are willing to trust me, I am willing 


40 


MEXICAN BILL 


to accept the reward, but I must deal only with 
principals^ as I do not care to transact business of 
this kind through agents. In fact, it would not be 
admissible, for my own personal safety, to do so. 
If you are as anxious to learn of these things as 
your numerous advertisements would lead me to 
believe, I think you had better come to this 
country, where we can have a meeting, and all will 
be made known to you. Bring the money in gold. 

“ Inigo Balbaso.” 

“ So you can see by this, that this man Balbaso, 
knows that, which, if told us, will enrich us, and end 
this mystery. The letter we received in New York 
appoints the place of meeting, and our scout in- 
forms us that to-morrow night at sunset we will 
have reached the spot. ” 

“Yes; and he also states that the locality is a 
dangerous one; that it is not far from the rendez- 
vous of the most dreaded desperado in this section 
— Juan Valdoso.” 

The old man speaks nervously. The younger 
one laughs. 

“ Bah! You have nothing to fear. We are well 
armed, and no one can surprise us upon these open 
prairies.” 

“ Not during the day, perhaps, but at night.” 

“ You give yourself needless alarm, uncle Ar- 
thur. The peculiar character who has rendered 
us such valuable service as guide, is, like the rest of 
his fellows, entirely too suspicious. A man who 
continually goes armed is at heart a timorous 
coward, and greatly magnifies the danger. Be- 


AN ATTACK BY BANDITS 


41 


sides, our buckskin-clad friend is old and garrulous; 
he dearly loves the sound of his own voice.” 

“ Ah, papa! Isn’t that sunset beautiful.” It is 
the voice of the girl. 

The father turns with a suppressed sigh; he feels 
nervous, somehow, and the words of his nephew 
do not reassure him. 

“ Yes, Millicent; the works of God are ever beau- 
tiful.” 

The young man approaches the side of the girl. 

“ And how is my little cousin standing the long 
ride? ” he asks. 

The maiden does not answer him. She either is 
so absorbed in her contemplation of the scene of 
grandeur before her as not to have heard him, or 
she purposely avoids answering him. 

” Not fatigued, I hope,” he essays once more. 

This time she answers him, without looking at 
him; answers rather coldly. 

” Not very. I enjoy riding.” 

“ It has been our favorite pastime at home,” he 
says. 

" Yes.” 

Little more is said. The girl evidently does not 
wish to converse with the young fellow, or she is 
too deeply interested in something else. 

The young man, Mordaunt Daggett, notices the 
coolness of speech and action. It is not the first 
time. It has been so for some time. But he takes 
it all. He is playing for high stakes, and does not 
permit such a thing as a woman’s coldness to aggra- 
vate him. Presently the father rides up to the 


42 


MEXICAN BILL 


scout, and engages him in conversation, and Mor- 
daunt takes advantage of it. He rides up to the 
side of the beauty. 

“You are very distant of late,” he begins, 
reproachfully. 

“ Would you expect me to be otherwise? ” she 
answers, with haughty surprise. 

“ It grieves me to the heart, Millicent. You are 
really hard on me.” 

She turns on him contemptuously. 

“Heart! You have no heart. I once loved you, 
Mordaunt, looked up to you as a Hindoo wor- 
shiper looks up to its god; thought you everything 
that was noble, the soul of truth and honor; but 
the night that poor, weak creature came to me and 
told me the story of your baseness, told me how 
you had deceived her, leading her on to her ruin, 
and had then cast her aside like an old glove, 1 
turned against you; my eyes were opened. I 
know you in your true character. I have forced 
myself to be civil to you, so that papa would not 
notice anything. I kept my knowledge from him; 
but you can never be anything to me again. Do 
not attempt to make it so.” 

The dark face of the cousin flushes; the deceit- 
ful eyes assume a look which, if seen by the girl, 
would startle her; but he only says: 

“ You accepted her statement without giving me 
a chance for explanation. You took it for granted 
that she must have spoken the truth. ” 

“ I know she did. The very servants know it. 
Why, even Pierre, your valet, not twenty feet from 


AN ATTACK BY BANDITS 


43 


where you are now, knows the circumstances. 
No; it is useless to try and deny it. It is true.” 

“ Very well, then. I suppose I must abide by 
your superior judgment,” he answers, and rides to 
the rear of the train. 

In thirty minutes they are encamped. The fires 
are lighted, the burro unloaded (much to his evi- 
dent relief), and brisk preparations are being made 
for the primitive evening meal. 

Millicent is in her wagon, which she shares with 
her maid. That individual is combing out her long, 
beautiful hair, and talking as she does so. 

“ I am really beginning to feel like a gypsy miss,” 
she says; “ cooking in the open air; sleeping in 
a wagon. I feel as if I could even tell fortunes. 
Isn’t it a funny way to live? ” 

“ Rather enjoyable, Sarah,” replies her young 
mistress. “ There! do my hair up tightly. I am 
getting hungry, and I can see that supper is nearly 
prepared.” 

She is looking out the front end of the wagon. 
She sees the crackling fire, the preparations going 
on for the meal. But what is that sound, gradually 
growing more apparent? The sound of horses’ 
feet upon the prairie, a succession of dull thuds, 
that are evidently heard by the balance of the 
party. Yes, now, old Ben raises his grizzled 
head. He has also heard. He seizes his rifle and 
hurries to the edge of the motte.” 

A sharp crack of a rifle. A cry of anguish. 

Then a dozen gaudily appareled, fierce-looking 
men gallop in upon the scene. 


44 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Throw up your hands! ” comes the stern com- 
mand, and she sees that the men of the party are 
covered with the rifles of the newcomers. 

She gives a piercing scream as she sees her 
father in the grasp of a bearded man who demands 
the valuables of the party — a scream that attracts 
the attention of two of the band, and brings them 
to the wagon. They dismount from their ponies; 
they clamber into the wagon ; they seize her in 
their powerful arms. She knows she is being lifted 
out of the wagon; she is about to swoon, when a 
series of lusty, wild cheers ring out on the night; 
a score of shots, and one of her captors falls with 
a groan upon the ground; the other turns and flees. 
She feels a strong arm catch her as she is about to 
fall, and a musical voice murmur: 

“ You are all right, now, miss; we have scattered 
them.’’ 

She looks up, and catches the look of respectful 
admiration in the dark eyes of the man who has 
rescued her — looks up, and gasps, almost uncon- 
sciously. 

“You — you — what brought you — who are 
you?” 

“ Mexican Bill I at your service, miss. Your 
camp has been attacked by Mexican bandits, but 
myself and comrades came in time to save you,” 
and he bows gracefully. 

Then overtaxed nature gives way, and, when the 
danger is past, she faints. 

A true woman! 


A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW 


45 


CHAPTER IV. 

A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW. 

By this time the badly frightened maid comes 
to her mistress, and the handsome cow-boy, with 
one last look at the pale, beautiful face, leaves her 
to the care of the servant. 

His comrades have ridden in pursuit of the depre- 
dators, but have failed to capture any. These 
fierce desperadoes are well mounted. They are 
just returning to the little camp as Bill approaches 
the elderly gentleman, who is lying exhausted from 
fear and the sudden and unexpected attack. 

“ All got away, cap’en,” says one of the party, 
who have come just in time, a wild-looking cow- 
boy, clad in flannel shirt and chaparrals. 

“ Excepting those on the ground yonder, ” replies 
the “ cap’en,” pointing grimly to the dead bodies 
of three of the bandits, who have been killed at 
the first fire. 

** Are any of the boys hurt?” he asks, quickly. 

** Dick, a little; flesh wound in the leg. The 
scout in charge of this outfit is hurt some, too? ” 
Attend to Dick. Let some of the boys move 
this carrion; the sight is not a pleasant one for 
ladies; and, by the way, who is the scout?” 

“ Old Buckskin Ben.” 

“ What! old Benny? Where is he? ” 

“ Over there, by the fire.” 

Without further comment or parley, the leader 


46 


MEXICAN BILL 


of this bra^e band hurries to the little knot of 
people gathered about the fire. He sees the 
teamsters tenderly binding up a nasty wound in the 
shoulder of the aged scout; and also observes that 
the old gentleman, evidently the man of greatest 
importance here, is reviving. He does not stop to 
speak to him, but approaches old Ben. 

** A nasty wound, Benny,” he says.. 

Kinder; but old Ben’ll pull through. Why! 
Blast me, if it aren’t Bill. What in the devil brings 
you hyar. Bill?” The old scout recognizes the 
handsome cowboy. 

Oh, passing by; on business, you know. What 
outfit is this?” indicating the party around the 
fire. 

“ Keerful, pards,” and a spasm of pain convulses 
the old man’s features, as one of the teamsters is a 
little rough. Recovering, he answers: “ Party of 
Englishmen out hyar on some tomfool errand,” 

“ Name?” 

“Doggitt, or somethin’ like it.” 

“ Doggitt.” The detective turns it over in his 
mind. The name has a familiar sound. Daggett,” 
he says, presently. 

“ Yas, that’s it. Blast yer eyes, Mike! Yer 
aren’t pulling on a tough mule’s jaw. Be keer- 
ful!” 

The cowboy detective turns from him; he is 
filled with astonishment to hear that name here, on 
the prairie; the name that has been in his mind’s 
eye since the meeting with the lawyers. 


A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW 47 

“ Wonder who they are ? ” he mutters. “ English, 
too, so Benny says.” 

He approaches the fire. The servant who, by 
this time, has effectually revived his master, rises 
to his feet, as the detective draws near. 

“ A close call, sir!” remarks the cowboy, bow- 
ing to Arthur Daggett, carelessly. 

“ Very, sir. Are you the leader of those brave 
fellows who have rendered us such timely aid.” 

“ I have that honor,” responded Bill, removing 
his sombrero. 

“ Allow me to thank you, sir. If you had not 
come just when you did, God knows what those 
devils would have done. Murdered us all, perhaps. ” 
And the old man grasps the two hands of the 
detective in his own, and shakes them heartily. 

“ I hardly think so, uncle,” remarks a young 
man, who has been standing a little in the rear. 

* They only demanded our valuables, and would 
have probably gone, leaving us unmolested, when 
they had obtained what they wanted.” 

The detective shoots a quick glance at the 
young man. He has noticed a slight sneer in the 
words just spoken. 

You are not acquainted with the maxim of 
Juan Valdoso’s band?” he says, quietly. 

“ I must confess my ignorance,” replies the 
young man, coldly. 

“ It is this: ^ Dead men tell no tales* Signifi- 
cant, eh? ” 

“ Very. Was it Juan Valdoso who attacked 


us? 


48 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ The same. I know him well.” 

“ So? An intimate acquaintance, eh?” very sar- 
castically. 

The handsome detective flushes angrily. 

“ Not an intimate acquaintance, sir. Say rather, 
an intimate enemy. I have been brought into asso- 
ciation with him in an official capacity several 
times.” 

An official capacity? ” the old gentleman 
speaks. “ I don’t quite understand you.” 

“ Pardon me for not introducing myself. I am 
a detective, known throughout this section as 
Mexican Bill. As Valdoso is a daring criminal, it 
is but natural that I should know him.” 

The young man glances quickly at the detective 
as he speaks these words; a glance that betokens 
fear — startled surprise. The cowboy notices it, 
and secretly wonders. Why should this stranger, 
an Englishman, show signs of fear at hearing his 
name? He surely could not have heard it before. 

The elderly man draws a breath of relief. 

“ I feel secure, now that you are with us,” he 
says. I sincerely hope you can arrange it to 
remain with us until our business in this wild 
country is completed. We would be willing to 
amply compensate you ; would we not, Mor- 
daunt ? ” to the young man. 

Mordaunt I Ah ! the shrewd detective remem- 
bers the name, and again wonders why this party 
has come to America — what is their business 
there. 


A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW 49 

** But we have not introduced ourselves,” adds 
the old gentleman. 

Uncle! ” cries the young man, sharply, warn- 
ingly, “ consider what you are doing.” 

The elderly man looks at him with surprise. 

“ I do not understand you,” he answers. 

“ It is hardly a wise policy to tell any one our 
names, or the nature of the business that brings us 
here.” 

The elder flushes. 

“ I cannot see the necessity of so much secrecy. 
The young man has rendered us a valuable service; 
he may be able to assist us; at any rate, it will not 
affect the object in view to return his politeness 
with the knowledge of the names of those he has 
assisted.” 

The detective has been watching the young man 
closely; he does not feel favorably impressed with 
his appearance. He now speaks quickly. 

“ It is not necessary to tell me your names; I know 
them already.” He sees his words have created 
surprise; so he continues; he is about to make a 
bold stroke. 

“ You, sir, are Mr. Arthur Daggett, and you,” 
to the astonished junior, “ are Mordaunt Daggett, 
son of Trevylyn Daggett. You have with you 
your daughter Millicent, and servants,” to the 
elder man again. 

To say that the information in the possession of 
the detective created surprise would but feebly 
express the proper feeling which surged through 

Mexican Bill 4 


MEXICAN BILL 


50 

the minds of these two. The detective observes 
it, and follows it up. 

“ Your business here is also known to me. You 
are in search of Hugh Daggett, who disappeared 
in the year of 1859.” 

With a cry of angry amazement, Mordaunt springs 
forward, and faces the handsome detective. 

“ How in the fiend’s name did you know that? ” 
he demanded. 

The detective congratulates himself. He has 
struck the mark. He has hit the nail on the head. 

“ Oh, I am a detective,” he answers, coolly. It 
is my business to keep posted on all subjects. Per- 
haps I possess supernatural powers,” quietly, but 
with a slight tinge of sarcasm. 

The young man Mordaunt turns away. He is 
filled with amazement at this fellow’s information. 
From what source cbuld he have obtained it? He 
walks toward the edge of the timber. He is angry; 
very much put out. Can it be from the detective’s 
words? Hardly. It is something more than that. 

Arthur Daggett and Mexican Bill are left alone. 
The old gentleman is also perplexed. He is sur- 
prised at the knowledge possessed by the quiet, 
handsome man before him. Finally he speaks. 

“ You must, indeed, be possessed of supernatural 
powers, sir, for we have not divulged to any one the 
object we had in coming here. To our guide only 
have we stated the point we wished to reach, and 
this morning he informed us that to-morrow night 
we would arrive at our destination.” 

While the old man has been speaking, the active 


A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW 


51 


brain of the detective has been busy. He has been 
thinking; putting this and that together; consider- 
ing whys and wherefores. Now he says: 

“ There is nothing very surprising in the matter 
when you understand it; and, if you will give me 
your word that you will not mention it to any one — 
not even to your nephew — I will tell you howl 
came to know you and the nature of your busi- 
ness.’* 

He is searching deeply. He cannot understand 
why Bassett has been sent to attend to this busi- 
ness, and has been followed so soon by the par- 
ties themselves. 

You have my word, sir, as a gentleman, I will 
not betray your confidence.” 

Arthur Daggett speaks earnestly. The detective 
seems satisfied, for he says: “ In the first place, I 
learned the story of Hugh Daggett’s disappearance 
from your lawyer, Isaac Bassett, who also engaged 
me to investigate the matter. Your name, that is 
your family name, I got from Buckskin Ben. I 
heard you call your nephew Mordaunt. I had the 
pleasure of rescuing your daughter from the dirty 
scoundrels who were about to carry her off, and so, 
by putting one thing with another, by springing it 
on you suddenly, I got at the truth — very simple, 
now that you understand it.” 

The old gentleman seizes his hand: “ You are a 
smart one,” he cries. 

*‘A detective must necessarily think a little,” 
answers the young man, modestly. 


52 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Now, sir, that I have told you all, will you be 
kind enough to enlighten me a little? ” 

“ If I can.” 

“ It will not be difficult for you to do so. It is 
only to answer a few questions.” 

“ I will do so.” 

“ Why did you come to America ? Y our presence 
here is not known to your lawyer.” 

“ 1 doubt if Mordaunt would like my answering 
that question.” 

“ Think of yourself; think of your lovely daugh- 
ter. Do not allow the fact of any other person’s 
likes or dislikes to interfere with your own happi- 
ness and success.” 

The detective speaks warmly. 

“ But what has my answering your question 
against my nephew’s wishes to do with my happi- 
ness or success? ” 

Surprise is plainly delineated on the old man’s 
countenance. 

“ Mr. Daggett, I am a detective.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Detectives sometimes get peculiar fancies — 
strange ideas. I am no exception to the rule. I 
believe your presence here to be a peculiar circum- 
stance. I feel that I, as a detective employed in 
your interests, should know why you came. Will 
you tell me? ” 

“ Why, yes. I don’t suppose it will affect our 
plans in any way. In fact, you may help us, as 
I said before Mordaunt left us. 

“ Well, then, proceed. ” 


A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW 


53 


“ As you know the story since the disappearance 
of my brother Hugh, the death of my father, and 
his peculiar will, it is not necessary to go over 
that. My nephew, Mordaunt, has been unceasing 
in his efforts since the day I got the first real tan- 
gible clue. He has given it his personal attention, 
and I have left it almost entirely to his discretion. 
The very day after Bassett had left us, we received 
a letter from this country, signed by one Inigo 
Baldaso, and claiming that he could furnish the 
information we so earnestly desired, but stipulating 
that he would deal only with principals. Mor- 
daunt seemed eager to start at once to America, 
and finally I yielded to his persuasions, and, think- 
ing it would be a nice trip for my daughter, I 
brought her with me. In New York we received 
another letter from this Balbaso, appointing a meet- 
ing. We had written him immediately upon the 
receipt of the first letter. We came as far by rail 
as we could, and, as the rendezvous is many miles 
from any railroad, we have been obliged to continue 
our journey in the primitive style. That is the 
story, sir.” 

For some few moments the detective remained 
silent and thoughtful, then he asks: “ You did not 
inform Bassett of your intentions? ” 

“ No. ” 

“ Why did you neglect this? ” 

“ We were not positive as to his route.” 

“ Still, a telegram sent ahead to some point 
where you knew he would be, would have reached 
him.” 


54 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Mordaunt seemed to think it unnecessary. ’’ 

“ You trust greatly to your nephew’s judgment.” 

“ Well, he is young and shrewd. I, myself, have 
spoken about informing Bassett; but he showed 
me that it was unnecessary at first, impracticable 
later on, and I gave in to him.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Daggett. That is all I wish 
to know. I would advise you to retire, sir. You 
must be weary, and, really, I must ask your pardon 
for subjecting you to this sweating process.” 

“ Is the information of service to you? ” 

“ I think it will be. Good night, you can rest 
easy. Myself and boys will remain with you for 
the time,” and, turning on his heel, the detective 
saunters away. 

“ So, he trusts it all to Mordaunt,” he mutters; 
and Mordaunt has his eyes open for the main 
chances, or I am greatly mistaken.” 

He walks slowly, aimlessly along, unconsciously 
going in the same direction as that taken by the 
man who occupied his thoughts. He is thinking 
of the strange idea which has occurred to him while 
listening to the lawyer Bassett’s story. If Hugh 
Daggett was proven dead, and the lovely daughter 
of Arthur married to Mordaunt, this young fel- 
low would be the possessor of all the vast wealth. 
True, the daughter Millicent would not be entitled 
to her share until the death of the father, but he 
might die suddenly. 

“ By G-d; very suddenly,” he cries^ half aloud. 

He believes this man Mordaunt to be a cool, cal- 
culating scoundrel. The thought has just occurred 


‘ VALUABLE INFORMATION 


55 


to him that he would not hesitate to put the old 
man out of the way if necessary. He stops and 
thinks. 

Suddenly his practiced ear detects the sound of 
footsteps. Not behind him, but before him 

He creeps silently but swiftly along, and soon 
comes in sight of the individual who is ahead of 
him. 

It is not a very bright night, and the timber is 
close, but he recognizes the man Mordaunt. 

Wondering what he is doing alone among the 
trees, the detective creeps along after him; sees 
another form emerge from the forest, and, with a 
start of surprise, recognizes it also. 

“ Valdoso! ” he mutters. 

The two meet, and enter into conversation. 

With stealth the detective draws sufficiently near 
enough to hear what they are saying, and with 
bated breath and attentive ear takes it all in. 


CHAPTER V. 

VALUABLE INFORMATION. 

“A FINE fizzle you make of it, ” he heard Mordaunt 
say. 

“ It did not enter into our contract that Mexican 
Bill and his cowboys were to show up at such a 
time.*’ 

“ You should have fired upon them.” 

“Bah! You don’t know what you are talking 


56 


MEXICAN BILL 


about. You don’t stop to consider that they out- 
numbered us.” 

Mordaunt muttered a curse beneath his breath. 

" The understanding was, that you were to sur- 
prise the camp, shoot down the parties referred to, 
capture the girl and myself, and make off with the 
gold.” 

“ Yes, that was the understanding.” 

“ Instead of that, you ride in and cover every 
one with your rifles, and demand the valuables, 
firing only one shot at the servant, and failing to 
kill him at that. Why didn’t you shoot as directed ? ” 

“ For the very good reason, young sir, that you 
were standing immediately in front of the man you 
wanted out of the way, and we could not reach him 
without killing you.” 

“ A fine excuse. Why, I saw you have him by 
the throat myself. Why didn’t you finish him 
then?” 

The cowboys came on us at that moment. Two 
of my men had the girl, and would have had her 
on a pony in another minute, but Mexican Bill 
himself shot one of them down, and rescued her. 
I tell you, we would all have been killed or captured 
if we had not gone when we did.” 

Valdoso speaks sullenly. He does not like to be 
brought to account by this young man. 

“ Well, I suppose it is all over for a while. We 
cannot do anything at present,” says Mordaunt. 

Not while Mexican Bill is in camp. Get rid of 
him, and I have the scheme, a better one than 
the last two.” 


VALUABLE INFORMATION 57 

“ This long-haired Bill will leave us in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ Don’t be too sure of that. Not of his own free 
will. But I think I can arrange it so he will.” 

“ You can; how? ” the young man speaks eagerly. 

“ Go slow; we must make other arrangements 
first.” 

“ Arrangements! What other arrangements? ” 

I must be better paid.” 

The young man mutters a curse. 

“ Why, you greedy, thieving bandit, you were to 
receive the ten thousand in the wagon, and forty 
thousand more if successful. Is not that enough?” 

The Mexican lays his hand on the arm of the 
other heavily. 

“ Go slow,” he hisses. “ Be easy with these hard 
names. I am not any worse than you. I rob and 
murder for money; but I do it openly. Every one 
knowns that I do it, and keep out of my way if 
they can. You plot for high stakes, and would rob 
and murder in the dark — yes, would have your 
kind relative, your good old uncle, murdered with- 
out the slightest hesitation. I am a murderer, and 
all that, but you area sneaking snake in the grass.” 

The detective, hearing the words of the Mexican, 
starts in his hiding-place. So his estimation of the 
young villain’s character has been about right. 

He observes that Mordaunt throws off the hand. 
He hears him say, conciliatorily: 

“ I spoke hastily. We must not quarrel. What 
other arrangements do you want to make. ” 

“ That’s better,” answers the bandit. 


58 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Now, I think, we can do business, and no more 
mistakes. First, before I tell you my scheme, I 
must inform you that I have come to the con- 
clusion that I agreed to do my part of the business 
too cheap. I have been investigating the matter, 
and I find there is about a million pounds, or five 
million dollars in it. I did not know that when I 
first wrote to you answering your private adver- 
tisement.’' 

“Private advertisement!” flashes through the 
detective’s mind. “ So, young Mordaunt has been 
working a little on the quiet,” and he listens 
attentively. 

“ Well, go on,” and Bill can see that Mordaunt 
is growing impatient. 

The bandit continues: 

“ I did not even know it when I sent the first let- 
ter to your uncle, as you instructed me; but I know 
it all now, and have come to the conclusion, that, as 
I can put you in the way to get it, that I should be 
at least entitled to one-fifth of it.” 

“ One-fifth! two hundred thousand pounds! one 
million dollars! ” and Mordaunt grasps a small tree 
for support. 

“ Yes, why not? I can keep you out of all of it 
by simply holding back what I know. Why should 
I not be entitled to one-fifth of it by putting you 
in the way of getting it? ” 

“ It is astonishing — your greed — your proposi- 
tion.” 

“ You are the greedy one. Why, I put the 
uncle out of the way. You get the lovely girl. 


VALUABLE INFORMATION 


59 


You get your share and Hugh Daggett’s too. You 
can afford to give me what I ask. Just think, with 
all that money, I would not be forced to rob and 
kill. I could become an honest man,” sneeringly. 

“I will think of it.” 

“ No. You must agree to my terms to-night, 
now or never. If you are not willing to be gen- 
erous no — not that; it is but my just due I ask — 
if you will not do the right thing by me, I shake 
you off, and will have nothing more to do with 
you,'' putting a peculiar emphasis on the last word. 

Both Mordaunt and the listening detective 
observe the emphasis. Mordaunt speaks. 

“ What do you mean by having nothing more to 
do with me ? Is there any one else you know of, 
that your information will benefit? ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ I don’t understand you. Come, speak out.” 

“ Do I get my share? ” 

“ I told you I would think of it. ” 

“ Well, think quick.” 

The plotting young villain takes off his hat and 
pushes back his hair from his forehead. Suddenly 
he cries: 

“ No. I will not accede to your demand. I 
will give you what I agreed to — not another 
penny.” 

The bandit king smiles. 

“ Fool ! I can see through your bluff. You 
think you have struck upon a plan which will make 
me tell what I really know. You think you will 
put men on my track who will bring me into court, 


6o 


MEXICAN BILL 


and force from me what you wish to know. Fool! 
I say again. I can read you. You would only 
fail. But, as you said but a short time since, we 
must not quarrel. I was only bluffing you a little 
when I said I would have nothing more to do with 
you. I don’t want to spoil your game. I don’t 
want to block my own. You have been advertis- 
ing for proofs of Hugh Daggett’s death. I can 
furnish them. I told you of that in our former 
meeting. It was there that we arranged the little 
plan to get rid of the old man and put the girl in 
your power. That little surprise party fell through. 
I know you have a little idea in your head that, in 
some way, you might use the knowledge of Dag- 
gett’s death to your advantage, even without my 
assistance; but, as I want the money, and am will- 
ing to help you, I will tell you one thing more ” 

“ Go on,” murmurs thejcrestfallen villain. 

“ Even if you were to prove Hugh Daggett’s 
death (and you might do so, for there are others 
who know it), you would get only your share; 
even if you put the old man out of the way, mar- 
ried the daughter and got his share, I would block 
your game; you could not get it all.” 

“ Why not, if Hugh Daggett’s death were 
proven? ” 

“ Hugh Daggett had a son. ” 

Very quietly the words were spoken, but they 
startled both the seen and unseen listener. 

“ You did not tell me of this before! ” cries 
Mordaunt. 


VALUABLE INFORMATION 


6l 


“ I was keeping it in reserve for an occasion like 
this.’^ 

Mordaunt recovers himself, and goes closely to 
the bandit; so close that his eyes pierce those of 
the smiling robber. 

“ I believe you lie!” he says, after a moment’s 
scrutiny. 

“ Again I say, go slow, young man; it is not safe 
to give a man the lie in this country. I might kill 
you, and benefit myself by so doing, if you are not 
civil.” Spoken calmly, but every word of it 
meant. 

Mordaunt draws back. “ You say there was a 
son? ” he mutters. 

“Yes. I will be more explicit. I will say. 
There is a son f for Hugh Daggett’s child, born on 
the same night when both father and mother died, 
still lives, and is a member of my band. So you 
see, Mr. Mordaunt Daggett, that I have the power 
to block your game, and could do it. Now, one 
thing more: what is to prevent me from putting 
both you and your uncle out of the way, producing 
the only remaining heir (and I have positive proofs 
of his identity), and sharing this money with him? 
I told you a few moments ago that your death 
would benefit me. Can’t you see that I have 
spoken truly ? ” and he bends forward and looks 
into his companion’s face. The younger villain re- 
coils. 

“ But you would not do that? ” he gasps. 

The bandit smiles. 

“ I could do it,” he says. “ It all depends upon 


62 


MEXICAN BILL 


you. Do I get my share? Shall this son, 
ignorant of his parentage, remain so? Will you 
allow me to help you? or must I go it alone? 
Come. I have shown you my hand. You should 
know how to play.” 

“ I will accede to your demands,” mutters Mor- 
daunt, sullenly. 

“ I thought you would. Here, read this,” pro- 
ducing a paper from the inside pocket of his velvet 
jacket. “ You will find it only an agreement to 
pay me one million dollars in case I produce the 
proofs that Hugh Daggett is dead and left no 
children. It is all right. I intended springing it on 
you after our little surprise party of to-night. I 
have an indelible pencil. That stands good in law. 
So sign it, and then I’ll unfold my second scheme, 
which is bound to be successful.” 

With a quick, eager movement, Mordaunt takes 
the paper, reads it and signs it. 

“ Good,” murmurs the bandit, placing it care- 
fully in his pocket. “ Now for the scheme.” And, 
lowering his voice, he began unfolding his plan to 
the other. 

In vain the detective strained his ears to catch 
it. The bandit was speaking in a low whisper, 
and, to the chagrin of the cowboy officer, he began 
to walk away from the clerk, accompanied by Mor- 
daunt, talking in as low tone as he could. 

“ Confound it! ” mutters the detective, rising to 
his feet, glad, at least, to be free from the uncom- 
fortable position he has been obliged to assume for 
so long. “ Confound it! But I will watch young 


THE MISSING GIRL 


63 


Mordaunt. I will find out their scheme. By 
Jupiter, what a scoundrel that fellow is. But he 
has met his match in Valdoso. So there is a son. 
I have gained much valuable information this 
night, and I’ll act on it too. I must watch both 
Daggett and the Mexican. And, above every- 
thing else, I must keep my eyes open for signs of 
danger to that old man and his beautiful daughter. 
By Jupiter! she is a beauty.” 

He walks slowly back to camp. He finds only 
his own men in sight. They are playing cards by 
the light of the fire. The people of the outfit have 
gone to rest. 

He stops and watches them play. 

In a short time Mordaunt hurries into camp. 

Bill sees him, and cries: 

“ Taking a walk? ” 

“Yes; seeing that there is no prowlers near, 
before I slept.” And he leaves the fire, and 
clambers into the wagon, where he sleeps. 

The detective looks after him, and mutters: 

“ And, I suppose, he will sleep soundly. Oh, 
what a villain; and such a liar. Well, I like a good 
liar.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE MISSING GIRL. 

Day breaks early in midsummer, and so it is 
quite light when, at six o’clock, Mexican Bill yawns, 
stretches out his long, shapely legs, and rises from 


64 


MEXICAN BILL 


the blanket where he had slept. He does not need 
a soft bed of down, this man. With his saddle for 
a pillow, a blanket stretched upon the ground, 
another to cover him, he sleeps as soundly as 
though upon the softest couch of the wealthiest 
king upon earth, the sleep of an easy conscience, 
the sleep of the just. 

He has been awakened by the noise of active 
life surrounding him; and, looking about him, sees 
his brave companions, some engaged in rubbing 
down their hardy bronchos; some mounted, riding 
out on the prairie, lariat in hand, lassooing the half- 
wild ponies which have been turned loose to graze 
the night before. Buckskin Ben is walking about 
the little camp, giving orders to the teamsters 
under his command; seeing that the mules are 
properly cared for before harnessing them up to 
the wagons, to proceed upon their journey. One 
of the party is preparing breakfast, and the odor 
of the boiling coffee greets the detective’s olfactory 
organ agreeably, for he is hungry. 

Neither of the Baggetts is to be seen; they 
have probably not risen yet; so Bill, stretching 
himself, walks to the fire, and is soon devouring 
huge slices of bacon and bread, washed down with 
coffee; this finished, he feels like a new man. It is 
astonishing what an effect a balmy morning, a 
good meal, and a cup of coffee will produce upon 
a man; it braces him up, refreshes him; even in 
trouble, it relieves the anxious mind for the time; 
the satisfaction of feeling the hot blood coursing 










THE MISSING GIRL 6^ 

through the strong, healthy body, the satisfaction 
of living, is gratifying. 

He has just finished his meal, when he hears 
footsteps behind him. He turns, and sees Arthur 
Daggett. 

“ Fine morning !” remarks the old gentleman. 

One of the attractions of our country,” answers 

Bill. 

“ Just eating your breakfast, I see. Ah, my 
young people should be up, enjoying the beautiful 
morning, taking in the fresh air. But, you know, 
Mr. Bill, young people of the present time spend 
much more time in bed than we used to when I 
was a boy. They spend too much of life in bed. ” 

The detective agrees with him, and the old gen- 
tleman delivers his opinion of the advantages of 
early rising, fresh air, etc. Rather a lengthy dis- 
sertation, but the detective does not interrupt him. 
He hears him through, his mind far away at the 
same time, thinking of the interview he has over- 
heard the previous night, reflecting upon the busi- 
ness of Mordaunt Daggett ; wondering why it is, 
that such a desperate scoundrel is connected with 
such a noble family. 

His heart is longing to gaze upon the face of 
beautiful Millicent Daggett. He recalls the look 
upon her countenance when he had rescued her 
from the fierce bandit, the look of gratitude in the 
blue eyes. He is anxious to see her in the clear 
light of day. 

The old gentleman has finished, and, as he does 

Mexican Bill ^ 


66 


MEXICAN BILL 


SO, the detective observes Mordaunt emerging from 
his sleeping quarters, carefully dressed, looking 
bright and refreshed from his slumbers. He 
approaches his uncle. 

“ I overslept myself a little,” he remarks, without 
noticing the detective. 

” And Millicent is following your example,” 
replies the good old man. 

“ Why is she not up yet? ” and the villain looks 
surprised. 

“No. I shall have to go and arouse her soon. 
Neither she nor her maid have made their appear- 
ance. ” 

The detective looks up at the young man. He 
has been sitting upon his saddle. 

“ You look as if you had enjoyed a good night’s 
rest,” he observes to Mordaunt. 

That gentleman casts a look of contempt upon 
the cowboy. 

“ I always sleep soundly,” he says, coldly. 

“ Yes? A contented mind, no doubt,” with a 
slight accent of sarcasm. 

“ I have no reason to feel discontented,” replies 
young Daggett, forcibly. 

“ I suppose not. Well ” — rising and picking up 
his saddle preparatory to placing it upon the back 
of his pony — “ I slept well myself.” 

“ A contented mind? ” and Mordaunt smiles 
covertly. 

“ Not so much so as I should have wished,” 
standing with the saddle in his arms. “ But I need 
strength to combat with those I am pitted against. 


THE MISSING GIRL 67 

and I sleep so that I shall gain that which is so 
essential — a clear brain, a strong arm.” 

He looks the young man square in the eyes as 
he speaks, and notices that he turns from his gaze. 

He turns and leaves the young villain, and is soon 
cingling on his saddle. 

Arthur Daggett has gone to arouse his sleeping 
daughter. The detective hears him calling her 
name in his hearty, cheery voice; sees him shaking 
the wheel of the wagon to arouse her. 

“ Millicent! Millicent! come, the birds are sing- 
ing their loudest and sweetest for you. Come, lazy 
bones, get up. ” 

No sound. No answer. 

Presently he sees the old man stoop, and pick up 
a short stick from the ground; sees him striking 
the side of the wagon; hears a faint sound as of 
some person just awakening from slumber remon- 
strating in a drowsy tone. 

“ Ah, that brought her around,” cries the old gen- 
tleman. Then a scream, a woman’s voice, and the 
maid looks out of the end of the wagon. 

“ Miss Millicent! ” she cries. 

“ She is not here,” her voice sounding broken 
and alarmed. 

“ Not there,” shouts Arthur Daggett. “ Where 
is she? ” 

The girl does not know she has been awakened 
by the sound of the old gentleman’s stick beating 
upon the wagon. She has turned, and found her- 
self alone. 


68 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ She has probably risen early, and gone for a 
v/alk,” murmurs the father. 

No; the men have been up since before daybreak; 
she has not been seen. 

The girl seems drowsy yet; she is scarcely her- 
self, despite the confusion that now refgns. The 
detective runs to the wagon. 

“ My God, sir,” the grief-stricken, anxious father 
cries, “ where can she be? what has become of 
her.” 

In his sorrow and anxiety, he clutches the detect- 
ive’s arm. The cowboy reassures him. 

“ She will be found,” he says. 

A few sharp orders and the cowboys are scour- 
ing the prairie and timber. The detective is sooth- 
ing the father, watching the face of Mordaunt as he 
does so. He sees that individual looks pale and 
anxious. 

“ Is this part of the scheme? ” flashes through 
the detective’s mind. 

The cowboys return. One of them has found a 
small vial out on the prairie, about one hundred 
yards from the “ motte. ” Mexican Bill takes it, and 
applies it to his nostrils. 

“ Chloroform!” he mutters. The truth flashes 
through his brain. The two women have been 
anaesthetized, and the girl carried off. The maid 
is still complaining of a dull headache, through 
her sobs. Yes; that must be the solution. Who 
could have done it? Valdoso; no one else. 

“ I will find your daughter,” he says to the old 
man. 


THE MISSING GIRL 69 

He hurries to his pony. He is about to mount, 
when Mordaunt approaches him. 

“ Have you any idea where she is? ” he asks. 

The cowboy detective springs into his saddle. 
He looks down upon the other. 

“ Have you?” he demands. 

“ Why, no. How should I know? ” He speaks 
in a surprised tone. 

“ I did not know. I thought perhaps you might 
have some idea,” his eyes piercing the soul of the 
young man. “ I thought perhaps this was part 
of your scheme.” 

The words strike home. Despite his attitude of 
surprise and anxiety, the young man starts. 

“ What do you mean?” he cries. 

“ You know. Hear me. I am going to rescue 
your cousin. I am going to thwart you, young 
Mordaunt Daggett. As I said yesterday, I may 
be possessed of supernatural power, for I know 
where Millicent Daggett has been taken. I know 
why she was taken there. ” And, with a piercing 
glance, he leaves him. 

The next moment he is heard giving some orders 
to his companion. Then he is gone. 

Far out on the prairie they see his hardy, swift- 
footed pony galloping. The stricken father feels 
that this brave, daring spirit of the plains will bring 
his darling back to him. He turns to Mordaunt; 
he murmurs: “ He must be positive of her where- 
abouts; he must know something.” 

“ Very likely,’^ answers that young man; but, as 
he turns away, a sardonic smile comes to his lips. 


70 


MEXICAN BILL 


He mutters: “ Not so much, either, or he would 
not have' gone. Valdoso has a great head.” 
And he lights a cigar. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“in the hands of the PHILISTINES.” 

As SWIFT as an arrow from the bow, the little black 
pony bears its master over the billowy prairie. 
Startled prairie dogs, sitting upon their haunches 
outside their burrows, dive down into their earthy 
homes, coming to the surface again as the thunder- 
ing hoofs pass by, looking in startled surprise after 
the receding animal and its untiring rider. 

Long-eared jack rabbits scamper away in fright. 
The sun mounts high in the heavens, and soon 
asserts its fiery supremacy; but unheeding, without 
noticing the fierce heat, the swift rider keeps on. 
On to the caverns where Juan Valdoso hides, where 
he believes the young English maiden has been 
taken. 

His busy brain is thinking while he rides. He 
dislikes the idea of leaving old Arthur Daggett 
alone with his heartless, murderous nephew ; but he 
has given his faithful, fearless companions strict 
orders. They are not to leave their present camp- 
ing ground until his return. They are to watch and 
guard the camp from intruders. He admires the 
ingenuity of Valdoso in effecting an entrance into 
the guarded camp. He must have exercised 
extreme caution to have done so. He feels that 


IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES 7 1 

he is a foe worthy of giving battle to. He feels 
a certain amount of pride in the fact that he is to 
be brought face to face with the cunning Mexican 
— to pit his strength, his cunning, against his. 

So he rides on, stopping only to water his pony 
at a running stream which crosses his path, to rest 
him a little. For, as eager as he is to make his 
destination, he realizes the importance and truth 
of the saying “ That the more haste the less speed,” 
and he knows he must not tire his faithful little ani- 
mal beyond the power of endurance. It is hardly 
dark as he reaches the low range of hills in whose 
fastnesses Valdoso makes his home. He must be 
camped now, to guard against surprise. He must 
be the one to come upon the scene unexpected, not 
the one to be taken unguardedly. So he slackens 
the pace of his pony, and, to guard further against 
the sound of approach, he muffles his horse’s hoofs 
with rubber pads, which deaden the sound of his 
tread 

He is passing through a strip of timber. Night 
has fallen, and the new moon is struggling to break 
through a mass of clouds which have gathered 
since sunset. The wind is softly soughing through 
the trees, and the experienced frontiersman knows 
that rain is liable to fall before morning. Sud- 
denly, through the trees, he sees the faint glimmer 
of a fire. Some one is camping in the woods. 

“ It may be he,” he mutters. 

He has ridden rapidly all day. Perchance he 
has overtaken the abductor before he has had a 
chance to reach the rocky fastnesses of his home. 


72 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ So much the better,” he thinks; “ my work 
will be so much easier,” and, dismounting, he 
throws the bridle rein over his arm, and creeps 
through the forest in the direction of the fire. He 
is within two hundred yards of their encampment, 
and is beginning to look about him for a safe place 
to secure his pony, when a startled neigh from 
that faithful beast causes him to start with a mut- 
tered exclamation of anger, and prepare to defend 
himself, in case the sound has been heard. But 
no ; there is no appearance of surprise in the camp. 
Probably those so near him have not taken notice 
of the sound. Perhaps they have thought it 
emanated from one of their own ponies. So, after 
making sure of the fact, he ties his pony, and, loos- 
ening his revolver in his belt, creeps forward. 

He soon is near enough to see the black-vis- 
aged scoundrels before him. There are three of 
them by the fire. One of them is preparing some 
food ; the others are carelessly lolling upon the 
ground, rolling cigarettes and smoking them. He 
does not see Valdoso, but feels that he is not far 
distant. 

Ah ! as his eyes grow accustomed to the light, 
he sees two figures, in the shadow. One he recog- 
nises as the bandit chief ; the other, robed in 
white, must be the girl, Millicent. He feels as 
though he would like to rush in upon the band, and 
rescue the fair girl at once ; but he knows this 
would be an extremely dangerous thing to do, as 
there are four of them to combat with. No, he 
must wait, and use stratagem. 


IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES 73 


An hour passes, and another. The bandits have 
eaten their meal, and Bill sees that the girl has 
refused to accept any portion of it, although the 
chief has endeavored to persuade her. She seems 
overcome with grief, and the heart of the brave 
detective feels heavy with sympathy. Patiently he 
waits, as still as the lofty trees about him. He 
sees the desperado stretch out by the fire to sleep, 
Valdoso near the maiden. The time is approach- 
ing — the time to act. He can creep around the 
encampment to the tree where the girl is confined, 
and, assuring'her, in a low tone, of his presence, can 
release her; and, securing one of the bandits’ ponies, 
place her in the saddle, and make good his escape 
with the fair one. It all seems easy, and he arises 
and makes his way to the place where he has left 
his pony, but a short distance from the spot where 
he has been crouching. He will have him in readi- 
ness for immediate flight. He reaches the spot, 
but starts in horror and amazement. His pony is 
not there ! He is gone. 

For the instant, he stands spellbound; then he 
thinks that, the little animal, being attacked with 
hunger, has in some way managed to break loose 
from his fastening, and has wandered away in the 
woods. Perhaps, in his eagerness and hurry, he 
has not tied him securely. So, with a muttered 
expletive, he begins his search for the beast. He 
searches within a radius of one hundred yards. 
The moon, which is still struggling to shine, ever 
and anon, gives him a little light; but the missing 
pony cannot be found. He is about to return to 


74 


MEXICAN BILL 


the camp, trusting to be able to possess himself of 
one of the bandit’s ponies, when he hears a faint 
sound behind him, a crackling sound as if some 
one had trodden upon a dry stick, and it had broken 
under their feet; he turns quickly, with one hand 
upon his revolver — turns, but too late, for the next 
moment he is in the clutch of strong arms, arms 
that bear him to the earth. He struggles desper- 
ately; he is an experienced, trained athlete, and 
very strong, but his efforts are unavailing, and he 
is soon disarmed and securely bound, his hands 
behind his back. His captors force him to his feet 
and he is led toward the camp. 

The figures around the fire arise to their feet as 
he is brought into the firelight. He sees Valdoso 
come toward him, sees the look of pity and grief 
in the eyes of the girl. 

“ Why, it is our great sleuth-hound! ” cries the 
bandit, “ our cunning fox. How is it that he is 
bound and helpless in the power of his enemy? 
Ha! ha! ho!” and his boisterous laughter sounds 
out upon the night. 

“ So you are matched at last, indefatigable one; 
you have found your equal, shrewd bloodhound; 
well, we will give you a royal welcome when we 
shall have reached home; the boys will be glad to 
see you. You have met Miss Daggett before, I 
believe, so further introduction is unnecessary. 
Strange that fate should place you in my power; 
but fortune plays funny pranks sometimes,” and 
again the loud laughter rings out. 

The detective makes no reply; he thinks it best 


THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 75 

to remain quiet, but he is planning just the same; 
he is captured, but not conquered. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF. 

Before daybreak the bandits are on their way. 
The girl is placed upon a pony, and led in advance 
by Valdoso himself; Bill is given his own pony, 
which he finds has been first captured by the rob- 
bers, and secured among those of the band; then 
they have gone in search of him, and have captured 
him as shown. 

The sun is high in the heavens as they enter the 
rocky defile that leads to the cave of Valdoso. 
The chief has said but little to the detective during 
the ride; merely glancing at him occasionally with 
a smile of triumph upon his bearded face, which 
has been returned by a look of defiance by the 
captive. One of the party has been dispatched 
an hour in advance; so, when they arrive, the entire 
band are expecting them. 

They greet our hero with cries of savage joy; 
they are delighted to see him bound and helpless, 
a prisoner in their midst. 

He has been the means of causing many of their 
number to cross the dividing line between time and 
eternity. He had been an unrelenting enemy; but 
now he is in their power. They will see that he 
does not cause them further trouble. 

With despair, the brave detective sees the girl 


76 


MEXICAN BILL 


hurried away — and then he is savagely ordered to 
dismount. He attempts to do so, but, his arms being 
bound, he finds it a difficult matter to make very 
rapid progress. Two of the band assist him; they 
seize him roughly, and drag him from the pony. 
Biting his lips in anger, the cowboy is obliged to 
submit. He is in their power;* he cannot retaliate. 

“ Unloosen my hands, and I’ll teach you dirty 
scoundrels a lesson,” he mutters to himself. 

They are probably aware of this, for they see 
that his bonds are secure, and then they push him 
along before them, even kicking him when he does 
not go fast enough to suit them. 

Then his eyes are blindfolded, and in total dark- 
ness he is led some distance. He feels the cold, 
damp air upon his face; he knows he is under- 
ground. He feels the brushing of some soft sub- 
stance against him as he is shoved along, and the 
next moment the bandage is removed from his eyes, 
and he is pushed along into what he sees is a small, 
narrow cave, dimly lighted by an aperture in the 
roof. 

With a parting kick and a curse, his attendants 
leave him, and he falls upon a pile of skins in the 
corner, breathing hard, muttering threats of ven- 
geance upon these wretches if ever they are placed 
in his power again. For a time he remained per- 
fectly still; he is fatigued and sore; his hands and 
arms pain him from the tightness of his bonds, and 
he assumes the easiest positions possible to relieve 
the strain upon them. 

Then, after an hour’s rest, he struggles to his 


THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 

feet, and begins to explore his surroundings — soon 
done, for the cave is small — not over eight feet 
wide by twelve deep; the walls, roof, floor, all of 
solid rock. A pair of heavy Navajo blankets are 
hung at one end, the entrance. It must have been 
these that had brushed against him as he was 
pushed into the cell. He goes to them, and, with 
his shoulders, forces his way through them. Only 
a narrow passage inside, which ends against a 
block of apparently solid rock. No escape from 
this place, unless one knows the secrets of the 
entrance. He knows there must be some direct 
passage to the air, but, bound as he is, it would be 
impossible to make use of it, even if found. He 
begins to feel the cravings of hunger. He has not 
eaten anything of consequence since leaving the 
camp of Arthur Daggett the previous morning. 

“ They cannot intend to starve me,” he thinks, as 
he once more reclines upon the pile of skins. 

But his mind is soon set at rest upon that score, 
for in a short time the blankets are pushed aside, 
and an old woman enters the cave, bearing a tray 
of solid silver, beautifully chased and engraved. 

“ Stolen from some one of wealth,” thinks Bill, 
as he sees it. 

The tray is covered with various articles of food 
and drink, and, as they emit a savory odor, the 
cravings of hunger grow more intense. 

The hag sets it down before him, and prepares to 
leave the apartment. 

“ See here,” cries the captive ; " I can’t eat tied 
up this way. Untie my hands.” 


78 


MEXICAN BILL 


The old woman does not appear to understand 
him. 

He speaks in Spanish. 

She comprehends the meaning of his words now. 

“ The master did not give orders to release your 
hands,” she mumbles. 

“ But how in the devil can I eat ? ” demands Bill. 

“I cannot disobey the master,” she mumbles, 
and leaves him. 

The hungry man endeavors to eat by bending 
over and seizing the smaller morsels in his teeth. 
He manages to obtain a little in this way, but it is 
decidedly unsatisfactory. He is in this ungraceful 
position, when he hears a laugh, and a voice 
exclaims : 

" Eating like the hogs. You present a peculiar 
appearance, friend Bill.” 

It is the bandit chief, Valdoso. 

The detective reddens with anger. 

“ Is this part of your idea of revenge,” he asks, 
“ to place food within my reach, and deprive me of 
the power of devouring it ? ” 

The bandit laughs. 

“ The torture of Tantalus, eh? No. I forgot 
you were bound, and, of course, none of my slaves 
would dare to release you without my order. I 
don’t want to tantalize you. I have a nobler feel- 
ing of revenge than that. I will release you. I do 
not fear you; besides, you are unarmed.” And, 
taking his knife from its sheath, he cut the bonds. 

With a sigh of relief, the detective stretches out 




THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 79 

his arms to allow the blood free circulation; and, 
this done, attacks the food voraciously. 

“ Thank you for that,” he says, with his mouth 
full. “ I can enjoy my meal much better now.” 

The bandit does not reply. He is watching the 
handsome fellow before him, a strange look of 
admiration in his dark, cruel eyes. 

The detective enjoys his meal. It is well cooked, 
and is accompanied with a flask of sweet wine. 
He finishes, takes a pull at the flask, and then says: 
“ A good meal. Now, if I had a pipe, I would feel 
in pretty good shape.” 

The bandit hands him a cigar. “ You will find it 
a good one,” he says. “ Never was any duty paid 
on that, and it cost me nothing.” 

“ Perhaps that is an explanation for your gener- 
osity,” responds the detective, feeling for a match. 

The bandit shrugs his shoulders, and furnishes 
that for which the other is searching. 

“ No,” he answers, quietly. “ I can aflbrd to be 
generous to you. Through you I am likely to 
become a millionaire.” 

“ Through me — how ?” sharply. 

“ All in good time. I have come to have a talk 
with you. Enjoy your smoke ; I have plenty more 
where that came from, and you can have all you 
wish.” 

The detective smokes, really enjoying the fine 
Havana, wondering what the man before him has 
to say. Perhaps only taunts, only to gibe and tor- 
ment his captive. Still, he has spoken kindly, has 
acted in a pleasant manner. The bandit finally 


8o 


MEXICAN BILL 


speaks, sitting upon a rock that juts out into the 
chamber. 

“ You are a smart man, Bill,” he says. 

The detective shrugs his shoulders. “ My pres- 
ent position would not lead one to have a very flat- 
tering opinion of it,” he says. 

“ Oh, any one is likely to make a mistake at some 
time. It is not discreditable to you that you are 
here. I had it arranged to place you in your pres- 
ent position. ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” looking up quickly. 

“ Simply this. I knew that by carrying off the 
girl, you would follow her; I knew that you would 
not hesitate a minute about doing so: so I chloro- 
formed and abducted her, and, expecting you, had 
everything prepared. It is a part of a scheme.” 

The detective starts; he speaks quickly. 

Yes; a scheme made with young Mordaunt 
Daggett? ” 

He is beginning to see through it all. He begins 
to see the scheme develop which he had been 
unable to overhear. He determined to surprise 
the bandit, and, from the action of the man as he 
hears his words, knows that he has succeeded in 
doing so. 

“ What do you know about Mordaunt Daggett 
and any scheme? ” he cries. 

“ A great deal — enough to send both of you to 
the penitentiary.” 

Providing, of course, you. ever get free,” with 
a quiet sneer. 

” Oh, yes; with that proviso.” 


THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 8l 

“ What do you know, Bill? ” quietly. 

“ I don’t know as I should tell you,” answers the 
detective, blowing a cloud of smoke to the rocky 
roof. “ But I will. I overheard your conversation 
with that precious scoundrel, and learned all, 
except your scheme to get rid of me. I begin to 
understand that now. ” 

The detective is striving to draw out the bandit. 
He argues that confidences beget confidences, and, 
by revealing to him all that he knows, he may be 
enlightened as to some things he would like to 
become acquainted with. 

The bandit springs to his feet. “ The devil you 
did,” he cries. 

“ Then, you understand all about the Daggett 
affair?” 

“ Yes. I know that you are plotting to give 
young Mordaunt the money.” 

“ Do you think so?” quietly. 

“ I heard all you said. ” 

” And you are convinced that I am anxious to 
benefit this popinjay? ” 

The detective thinks a moment. 

“ Well, candidly, from my knowledge of your 
character, Valdoso, I do not think you care two 
pins for any one outside yourself. ” 

“ Thank you. You will think differently after 
a while. Now, let me tell you, I do not care two 
pins for that murderous rascal, Mordaunt Daggett. 
In fact, I have a feeling of contempt for myself for 
having had anything at all to do with him. By 
Mexican Bill 6 


82 


MEXICAN BILL 


the saints! my character is spotless white compared 
with his. But I am ever anxious to benefit myself. 
You spoke truly when you said that; and so, when 
I became posted as to the facts of the case, I natur- 
ally felt an eagerness to be the possessor of some 
of this vast fortune. You heard our conversation, 
so I can speak plainly to you. The knowledge you 
will be the richer for when I finish, will not affect 
my course; for you are helpless. Bill; as helpless as 
an infant.” 

A quiet smile on the detective’s lips follows the 
earnest words of the bandit. 

“ I won’t deny it, Valdoso; but I have been in 
many a tight box before, and have come out on 
top.” 

A strange light appears in the eyes of the other. 

“ You have never been placed in such a position 
of danger as you are this blessed minute, my man. 
In an instant I can hurl you to death and destruc- 
tion.” From the look in the bandit’s eyes, the 
detective feels that he is speaking truly. A vague 
feeling of curiosity enters his mind. Where is the 
danger? He looks about the cavern; he can see 
nothing suspicious. 

The bandit observes the look. “ It is an unseen 
danger, but a present one, depend on it. You 
shall understand it all presently. Now listen to 
me, and mark me well. I will tell you my 
scheme.” 

“ I first became aware of the anxiety on the part 
of the Baggetts to learn of the whereabouts of their 
relative, by reading the advertisements in the vari- 


THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 83 

ous papers. First, the advertisement was for 
information of his whereabouts only; they evi- 
dently thought him living. I did not answer any 
of them. I knew Hugh Daggett to be dead, and 
did not care to tell any one what I knew.” 

“ Perhaps you killed him,” interrupts the detect- 
ive. 

“ No, Bill; I did not kill him. His murderer is 
dead. Pietro Alvarez killed Hugh Daggett.” 

“ Is this true? ” 

“Yes. You will understand it all before I am 
through. As I was saying, I paid no attention to 
the advertisements until a year ago. Another 
advertisement appeared, offering a reward for pos- 
itive proof of the death of the man. The reward 
was large enough to have tempted a poor man to 
put another to death in order to claim it. This 
‘ ad ’ I answered, and, in a short time, was in com- 
munication with Mordaunt Daggett. I did not 
give him any idea of the true state of affairs. I 
merely wrote that I thoiight \ could put him in pos- 
session of knowledge such as he desired. 

“ Finally he sent me a letter, which I was to copy, 
and send to his uncle, signing my name Inigo 
Balbaso. That letter was to induce the old man to 
come to America. It succeeded, as you know. 
The young fellow and I met by appointment at 
Omaha, and there was laid the plan to dispose of 
the old gentleman. Previous to this, however, I 
was moved by the evident anxiety of young Dag- 
gett to prove his uncle’s death, and investigated 
the matter. I got at the true facts of the case, 


B4 


MEXICAN BILL 


and only a short time since. I then determined 
not to follow the murderous instructions of the 
young scoundrel, but take them all captive, and 
compel them to share with me. I could easily 
have killed the old man if I had felt so inclined. 
You turned up, and blocked my game.” 

“ Yes; just in time. ” 

“ But you did not affect my plans. You rather 
helped me.” 

“ How? ” 

“ I immediately formed another — a better one. 
As your band of cowboys rode down on the camp 
like a whirlwind, I stepped to Mordaunt’s side, and 
whispered that I would return later, and appointed 
the meeting you witnessed. Then I demanded 
more money. You know how I succeeded. But 
one thing prevented me from carrying out the 
instructions of the younger Daggett — your pres- 
ence in camp. At least, so I told him. I suggested 
a scheme to get rid of you. It was this, and you 
will admit it is a good one: I was to disguise 
myself, and enter the camp after every one had 
retired. I knew the place would be guarded, but 
Mordaunt was to give me the password, and tell 
me where the teamsters were to be stationed, and, 
in the darkness, they would easily take me for one 
of your men. I was to get away with the girl. 
Her abduction would lead you to follow her. You 
would thus be out of the camp. I was to be on 
the look out for you and capture you. Thus far, 
everything has happened just as I planned.*' 




THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 8$ 

“Yes. Go on.” The detective is anxious to 
hear the rest. 

“ Remember, all this was to favor this young 
villain’s desires. The camp, being without you, 
would be comparatively at the mercy of any 
invader; for, although your boys would fight well, 
still we formed a plan to lead them also astray. 
This part is yet to be carried out. A mounted 
messenger, clad in cowboy costume, is to ride hur- 
riedly into their midst. He is to announce that 
you have rescued the girl, but are being pursued, 
will probably be captured; they are beseeched to 
come to your aid. Of course, they would do so.” 

“ More than likely.” The detective sees the 
devilish plot begin to assume alarming propor- 
tions. 

“ The messenger is to lead them a wild-goose 
chase so far out of possible protection to the camp 
as to leave it and Arthur Daggett at our mercy; I 
am to send a party of sufficient strength to over- 
power the remaining teamsters and servants; 
strong enough, in fact, to wage battle with even 
your brave boys in case they should return. Old 
Arthur Daggett is to be killed in the fray, likewise 
the servants, and so leave but one heir to all this 
enormous fortune — him, Mordaunt Daggett; for, to 
guard against the possibility of harm to himself, it 
was arranged that he was to leave the camp the 
night following the abduction, and come directly 
here.” 

“ Horrible! ” muttered the detective. 


86 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ You think so? A good scheme, though, you 
must admit.” 

“ Concocted with the fertility of invention of the 
devil.” 

“ Thanks,” smiled the bandit; “ I invented it. 
But to proceed; in order to insure against any mis- 
take on the part of my men, I am to inform them 
that there is a sum equal to fifty thousand dollars in 
the outfit, and they are to have it to divide among 
themselves for their work, it will be well done, 
Mexican Bill, they will not hesitate. 

He speaks positively, with devilish calmness; 
the detective shudders. All this can take place, 
and he is powerless to render aid. 

“ One thing more,” and, with a quick gesture, 
the bandit strikes a match, and lights a cigar. 
“ Young Daggett, who is even now on his way, 
upon arrival is to be married to his fair cousin, I 
providing a priest, who is not far from here, who 
will make the marriage as legal as any in the world, 
and tie the knot securely. Then Mordaunt Dag- 
gett will be the richer by four million dollars. It 
will not be supposed that he had anything to do with 
his uncle’s death. He will take the proofs, which 
I shall furnish him, of his other uncle’s (Hugh Dag- 
gett’s) departure from this mundane sphere, and I 
will settle down, a happy, prosperous old gentleman, 
with the million I get for my share.” 

He knocks the ashes from his cigar, quietly, 
calmly. 

The detective does not speak. His mind is tor- 






MEXICAN BILL-Page 87. 




THE SCHEME DEVELOPS ITSELF 8/ 

tured with the horrible facts of this infernal scheme. 
How can he prevent it? 

“ What do you think of it? ” the bandit asks. 

The detective does not reply. He asks a ques- 
tion : 

And suppose I should happen to make good 
my escape. Suppose, in some way, I get away 
from here. Even if all this comes, as you say, your 
way, don’t you suppose that I will see you punished 
— you and that murderous wretch, Mordaunt Dag- 
gett ? ” 

“Of course, if you get away. Ah, that little word 
if. How it upsets the best-laid plans. Mordaunt 
Daggett will be rich if you do not choose to block 
his game. Not by escape, however; that is impos- 
sible. Shall I show you how I have arranged to 
dispose of you? Would you have an explanation 
of my words of an hour ago? Step to the entrance 
of this cave, and I will show you something that, 
I think, will cause you to give my powers of inven- 
tion still greater credit. Come.” 

He arises, and steps to the entrance, the detective 
following him. 

Suddenly he stamps upon the floor, and, with a 
cry of horror and amazement, the astounded de- 
tective sees the block of stone that forms the rear 
wall of the cavern slowly descend to the floor. 

Any one beneath it would surely be crushed^ a 
bleedings mangled mass ! 

The bandit' sees his agitation, and causes the 
wall to return to its former position. 


88 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ You see, there would not be much chance for 
you if you were caught beneath that rock.” 

The brave cowboy feels his heart sink. Not 
much chance, indeed, if taken unawares. 

As they re-enter the cave, the bandit remarks: 

“ You may imagine that, by quickly running to 
the spot we have just vacated, that one might 
escape. I will inform you that the wall opposite 
the entrance is also movable, and, when the time 
came, would move in, thus preventing any pos- 
sibility of escape. Ah! I have things nicely 
arranged here.” 

“ No doubt of that,” bursts from the lips of 
Mexican Bill. 

“ But there is no necessity of putting this ma- 
chinery in operation; it all rests with you,” says the 
bandit. 

He has made remarks to the same effect before. 
What can he be driving at? 

I don’t understand you?” cries the detective. 

“ Sit down. I see you have finished your cigar. 
Good one, eh? Have another. I have shown you 
scheme number one. I might just add that the 
men are even now preparing to start to carry it out. 
Mordaunt Daggett is on his way here; all that 
remains to do is to tell my men that fifty thousand 
dollars in gold awaits them at a certain point not 
far from here; but a few days’ journey, in fact. 
This scheme, and it will be complete, is for the 
benefit of Mordaunt Daggett. I told you some time 
ago that I didn’t like this young man; I am only 
willing to benefit him inasmuch as he will bring 


SCHEME NUMBER TWO 


89 


me fortune. But there is another scheme; scheme 
number two, I call it. Would you like to hear it? ” 

The mind of the detective is beset with curious 
thoughts. The man before him is truly a genius 
for invention; a heartless genius, no doubt, a 
fiend who will stop at nothing; but a shrewd, 
calculating man above all. He had best hear the 
further developing of this man’s clever brain. 

“ Well, go ahead,” he says, “ I will hear scheme 
number two.” 

“ Good! As you heard me say during my inter- 
view with Mordaunt, Hugh Daggett had a son.” 

Ah, he had forgotten that. What was to come? 
He listens breathlessly. 

“ Scheme number two concerns that son, and, in 
order to make it a success, I depend on you to 
assist me. Are you listening? ” 

“Yes; go on.” 

The bandit carefully knocks the ashes from his 
cigar. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SCHEME NUMBER TWO. 

“ Of course, you do not know how I came to 
be mixed up in this affair. I have never told any 
one that; but I shall tell you, so you can clearly 
understand me. In the year of ’60 I captured the 
outfit of Hugh Daggett, consisting of himself, wife 
and servant, a dull fool, by the name of Peter 
Daniels. The man who drove the team and guided 


90 


MEXICAN BILL 


them was killed in the fight which occurred. I 
captured the three; for I knew that Daggett had 
deposited five thousand dollars in the bank at Santa 
Fe, and I wanted it. I carried them all here, to 
my stronghold, and informed the young husband 
(who was frantic at the thought of harm coming to 
his wife), that, in case he could furnish the sum of 
five thousand dollars within a certain time, I would 
allow his wife and himself to go free, unharmed, 
taking the servant with them. To this he agreed, 
and set out at once. The parting was a sad one; 
it even affected me a little, my wife, Pepita, very 
much. She saw that the young wife did not want 
for anything; and, with the assistance of mother 
Barbara, an old hag who was the mother of one of 
my band, made her as comfortable as possible.” 

The detective has started visibly at the mention 
of the hag’s name. 

“ Mother Barbara,” he mutters ; “ mother Bar- 
bara? ” 

“ Yes,” answers the bandit, with a peculiar smile. 
“ Is the name a familiar one? ” 

I have heard it before.” And he begins to 
listen eagerly. 

“ Very likely. You will know where when 
I have finished. The days passed. Until the 
morning dawned, the night of which the husband 
was to be back with the money, I did not convey in 
any way to the wife the fact that I knew the money 
was in Santa Fe before her husband had told me 
so. I professed ignorance of the entire matter. I 
even asked her, in a suspicious manner, if she was 


SCHEME NUMBER TWO 


91 


sure the money was there. The understanding 
was, that, if the husband did not return at the 
appointed time, she was to die. I made this 
agreement to assure myself of the quick return of 
the husband. 

“ Night came. The husband did not return. I 
also found five of my men missing, among them 
Pietro Alvarez. At eleven o’clock I entered the 
cave where the young wife was lying suffering. 
I had no idea what caused her pain; but in less than 
an hour it was all made plain to me, for she died in 
giving birth to an infant — a boy.” 

“Ah! So that is how Hugh Daggett’s son 
comes to be a member of your band? ” the detect- 
ive cries. 

“ Wait; hear me through. In the morning we 
buried the mother, and discovered the dead bodies 
of the father and servant. Alvarez had played me 
false. He had known that Daggett would return 
at a certain time, and, with four of his comrades, 
rode out to meet him, killed him, and walked off 
with the gold. 

“ The child lived, Barbara and rhy wife, Pepita, 
devoting themselves to its welfare. But one day, 
in the heat of anger, when the boy was about three 
years of age, I struck him, and threatened to kill 
him. The next morning both mother Barbara 
and the child were missing. I instituted vigorous 
search for the woman, but was unsuccessful. At 
last I gave it up, and the years rolled by, some ten 
of them, before I again discovered Hugh Daggett's 
son. But we will let that rest, at present, and I 


92 


MEXICAN BILL 


will unfold scheme number two. By this scheme, 
but one man will meet his death, and he richly 
deserves it. 

“ I know where I can lay my hand on the son. 
Suppose I were to go to him and say, ‘ You are 
the heir to an immense fortune in England. Share 
with me, and I will show you how to get it. ’ Then, 
when Mordaunt Daggett arrives, put him out of 
the way. The new-found son can wed the daugh- 
ter of Arthur Daggett, and she can return to her 
happy father, who will not be injured. Not one 
hair of his white head shall be harmed. The son 
will then inherit the money which Mordaunt is 
plotting for, and all will go merry as a marriage 
bell. What do you think of scheme number two ? ” 
“ More merciful than the other, but is it neces- 
sary that this sinful wretch should perish in order 
to carry it out ? ” 

The bandit’s face flushes with hatred and anger. 
“ Do you suppose for an instant, that I would 
allow him to share in this, my best scheme. No! 
Besides, I am playing for ahigher stake. By scheme 
number one, I get only a million. By scheme 
number two, I get two million and one-half; for I 
would have it distinctly set down that the son was 
to give me an equal share in the fortune.” 

“ Was it necessary to entice me here to further 
the success of your scheme? ” 

“ Decidedly. For, shall I tell you, shall I show 
you how deeply you are interested in this? ” 

The voice has grown hoarse with excitement and 


SCHEME NUMBER TWO 93 

eagerness. He bends forward, his hot breath on 
the young man’s cheek. 

“ Yes, yes; tell me.” The detective is growing 
excited. He is impressed by the man’s manner. 

You are Htigh Daggett's son ? ” 

It has come like an overwhelming avalanche. 
The words ring through the detective’s ears. Yes, 
it must be true. He can remember his early years ; 
old mother Barbara, who raised him to the 
age of thirteen; her death — she showed a 
desire to tell him something upon her deathbed, 
but passed away too quickly — his life among 
the cowboys, who gave him the name of 
Mexican Bill, from the fact of old Barbara’s nation- 
ality. It all comes to him, and he rests his head in 
his hands, overcome by the knowledge thus 
thrust upon him. And this man before him, 
this clever, heartless, scheming wretch — he 
has told him all; told him of his father’s murder, 
his mother’s death; and he wishes to enrich himself 
by appealing to the cupidity of him, the son, who 
has never known a parent’s love. With lightning 
rapidity he runs it over in his mind; he feels the 
eyes of Juan Valdoso upon him; he wishes to wed 
his beautiful cousin. That would not be hard, for 
he knows he loves her, feels that she would love 
him; but can he willingly lend his aid to assist in 
the death of his cousin, Mordaunt Daggett? As 
base as he knows him to be, he shrinks from it. 

“ Think, my boy, think well. Think of the fair 
creature confined in a cave close by, who, if you 
refuse to aid me, will, in a short time, be wedded 


94 


MEXICAN BILL 


to the wretch you know Mordaunt Daggett to be; 
think of the bloodthirsty men who are ready, at 
the word of command, to ride to the camp of a 
helpless old man, to strike him down in cold blood; 
think of your own horrible fate, crushed and man- 
gled by the heavy wall which totters behind you. 
Think and decide.” 

The man is thinking — ah, so hard; but he can- 
not see his way clear. At last a wave of inspira- 
tion sweeps over his brain. 

” I have decided,” he says, quietly, controlling 
his emotion. 

“ Well,” eagerly. 

I will agree to your second scheme, with one 
exception.” 

“ And that? ” 

“ You stated some time ago that your reason for 
wanting Mordaunt Daggett put out of the way was, 
that you did not want him to receive his share of 
the fortune, as it would deprive you of your equal 
share.” 

“ Yes, damn him ; I don’t want him to have 
any.” 

“ Hear me. I dislike the thought of this man’s 
death. I agree with you that he merits punish- 
ment. If I am released, I shall see that he gets it ; 
but I do not wish to be instrumental in his death, 
and such a death. I will assist you all I can. I 
will give you my share of this fortune if you will 
release me and allow me to go free with Miss 
Millicent.” 

The bandit’s eyes drop. 


SCHEME NUMBER TWO 


95 


“ That is not what I bargained for,” he mutters. 

How do I know but what you will play me false 
at any rate,” cries the detective. “ You told Mor- 
daunt Daggett that Hugh Daggett’s son was a 
member of your band. How do I know but what 
you will produce some one of your gang of cut- 
throats, after getting me to sign away half of this 
fortune, and, after putting me away, proclaim him 
the son ? ” 

“ That suspicion does not do you credit. Bill, 
even if it exists in your mind, which I doubt. You 
know that there is not a man in my band but what 
is well known, both to his comrades and others. If 
I could have done this, I might not have taken the 
trouble to bring Mexican Bill to my stronghold. 
No, Bill ; there is not the slightest danger of such 
a thing happening. Listen ; either you agree to 
do as I say, or Arthur Daggett dies, his daughter 
meets a fate almost as bad, and Mordaunt Daggett 
becomes the heir.” 

" I don’t mind telling you something else. Bill; I 
may as well do so now that I "have begun. I 
think 1 ca7i maftage it with young Daggett to divide 
equally with me when I once get him; what do you 
think about it? ” 

The detective detects the significant leer in the 
man’s words. True, the young scoundrel once in 
his power, he might be forced to do almost any- 
thing; and, in case he did — the detective shud- 
dered — Arthur Daggett’s life sacrificed, the fair 
creature wedded to that villain; no, it must not be. 

“ I will accept your proposition,” he says. He 


96 


MEXICAN BILL 


can assist them better at liberty than by being con- 
fined; he can keep an eye on the treacherous Mex- 
ican, to guard against a breach of faith. 

“ You are a sensible young man,” remarks 
Valdoso, with a smile of triumph. “ I will leave 
you for a while; when I return I shall bring the 
papers to be signed, also witnesses; then you will be 
set at liberty, under proper surveillance of course, 
and to-night — ah, to-night! the wedding takes 
place.” 

And, with a chuckle and a low bow, Juan 
Valdoso leaves the cave. 


CHAPTER X. 

WARNED — SCHEME NUMBER THREE. 

Left alone, the detective sits upon the skins, 
wrapped in thought. 

How can he outwit this devilish plotter? How 
can he manage to foil his well-laid plans? 

“ I am helpless as I am,” he mutters, rising and 
pacing the cell. “ But I would almost prefer 
death to becoming the accomplice of this wretch, 
to being the means of enriching him. Something 
may occur. I can think and act better if free. 
Yes, I must sign this paper, and then trust to for- 
tune to enable me to wrest it from him. So, 1 am 
Hugh Daggett’s son. It seems like a dream to me. 
His words — can they be true? They must be, or 
he would not spare me; I would have been dead 
long before this. I will await developments.” 


SCHEME number THREE 

He takes another pull from the flask of wine, and 
awaits the return of Valdoso. 

A faint noise outside. 

“ He is coming,” he mutters, without looking 
up. But the next moment he finds he is mis- 
taken, for he hears his name called in a low, mu- 
sical voice, a woman’s voice. It proceeds from 
outside the entrance to the cave. He rises to his 
feet, and pushes aside the blanket portiere. He 
can see no one — no one there. 

He stands bewildered. Could he have been 
mistaken? No, he hears it again. It sounds as if 
above him. 

“ Look up, senor,” it says. “ Push back the 
blankets, and you can see me when the light shines 
out in the passage.” 

He holds the blankets so the light can reflect 
into the passage, and then, looking up, sees the 
face of a woman looking down at him from an 
opening in the wall; the face of one no longer 
young, but still divinely, royally beautiful. 

“ Who are you? ” he cries, in amazement. 

“ Pepita, Juan Valdoso’s wife.” 

“ What are you doing there? ” He is truly 
astounded. 

” Listen! I have come to warn you. I followed 
my husband until I saw him enter the passage 
which leads to your prison. I hastily made my way 
to this place, which is in an adjoining cave. I 
would be enabled to hear what was said. I have 
heard. I waited until I was sure that Juan was 

Mexican Bill 7 


98 


MEXICAN BILL 


really gone, and then I called you. Do not trust 
him.” 

“ I do not understand you. ” 

“ My husband does not intend to keep faith with 
you. Upon his return, he will inform you that he 
has been considering your proposition to sign to 
him your share of the fortune, and has concluded 
to accept it. He will tell you that he will allow 
you to go free, taking the young girl with you, and 
will permit you to leave the cave, where you now 
are. But he will not allow you to leave the place 
entirely, nor will he release the girl. When Mor- 
daunt Daggett arrives, you will again be confined, 
and finally put out of the way, and the girl will be 
forced into the marriage with her cousin.” 

“ But in what way will he better himself by so 
doing? ” 

“ Having a paper signed by you, the only son of 
Hugh Daggett, he can claim your share of the 
money after your death. He will, of course, keep 
Mordaunt in ignorance of this, until he has received 
the million from him. Then he will bring forward 
his claim, and force Mordaunt to give it to him. 
Of course, the young man will be obliged to do so, 
as he will not dare to run the risk of being exposed 
as the accomplice of Juan Valdoso, the celebrated 
bandit, of being associated with him in the death of 
his uncle Arthur. He will be rid of an enemy — a 
dangerous one, as he knows you to be — and will be 
the possessor of the lion’s share of the fortune; the 
million from young Daggett, and your share, which 
will amount to one million six hundred and sixty- 


SCHEME NUMBER THREE 


99 


six thousand dollars. Do you begin to see why 
Juan Valdoso would break faith with you? ” 

She speaks hurriedly, and the detective sees that 
it is plausible. 

“ By God! ” he cries. “ He is a deep one.” 

“ Deeper than the sea. He thinks me faithful to 
his interests; has explained all to me. Further, 
Arthur Daggett is to meet his death. Directly 
upon the arrival of Mordaunt, the assassins are to 
be dispatched upon their mission of murder.” 

“ Great heavens! and must I stand by, knowing 
all this, and not stretch out a hand to help him? ” 
He groans in his anguish of spirit. 

“ Follow my instructions, and you may be able 
to thwart him in his design. ” She speaks impress- 
ively. 

“Tell me! instruct me! quick! I will obey 
you!” 

“ Very well, then. In a short time he will return 
with the papers, to be signed by you. They will 
be so worded that they will stand good in law, 
were you living or dead. Appear to be perfectly 
willing to sign; but, as you dip your pen in the 
ink, in some way break the bottle, and spill the 
contents. He will naturally be angry. You can 
appease it. ” 

“ How?” 

“ I will furnish you with a small vial, inclosed in 
a wooden case, such as travelers use. This vial 
will contain a fluid which will appear as jet-black 
ink at the time of writing, but which will fade, 
leaving no trace, in twenty-four hours. You can 


-rff’ 


100 


MEXICAN BILL 


produce this, stating that you always carry writing 
materials, and sign with that.” 

“ He will take you from the cave, and act in a very 
friendly manner toward you. But be watchful. 
You will, during the course of the day, see me 
standing near the entrance to one of the caves. 
When I disappear, follow me, and I will put you in 
the way of making good your escape. But you 
must be careful; Valdoso is as suspicious as a deer, 
and as watchful as a hawk.” 

“ You are a shrewd, clever woman,” cries the 
detective. “ Knowing Valdoso as you do, appar- 
ently anxious to thwart him, why do you remain 
with him? ” 

“ Alas! sehor, I love him. Despite his cruelty, 
notwithstanding his crimes, I love him. I do this 
because I wish to spare him further bloodshed. 
He has sin enough to answer for now. But he will 
return soon. Watch, here is the sympathetic ink I 
spoke of. Catch it as I let it fall.” 

He sees a fair, shapely arm thrust out of the 
aperture; sees a small, dark object in the small 
hand. It falls through space, and the next moment 
he has the] neat little wood-encased vial in his 
hands. 

“ Thank you,” he murmurs, gratefully. “ You 
are indeed a dear friend. I shall never forget you. ” 

“ Farewell,” she answers, and is gone. 

He re-enters the cave, and, secreting the vial, 
waits for Valdoso. 

He has not long to wait, for the bandit is soon 
with him, accompanied by two men; one a mem- 


SCHEME NUMBER THREE 


lOI 


ber of his band, the other a little, wizened old man 
clothed as a priest. 

“ I have kept you waiting, my boy,’' cries the 
false one; “ but I had to have the papers drawn up, 
and it took some time. Allow me to introduce 
my companions: This is Antonio Cintelli; this. 
Father Asquirel. He will officiate at the wedding 
to-night. Gentlemen, this is Mr. William Daggett, 
the only son of Hugh Daggett, deceased. I believe 
that is about right.” 

The detective nods his head; the scoundrels, who 
have been made known to him, do likewise. 

Now for the papers. I have been considering 
your proposition of the morning, William; that of 
signing away your share in the fortune, in my 
favor. I have consulted with my holy friend. 
Father Asquirel, and we have both come to the 
conclusion that it would be the most merciful thing 
to do to accept it. The father dislikes the idea of 
bloodshed; and, really, over a million and a half 
will be a pretty good thing for me. So, sign the 
papers; you will then be allowed to have the 
agreeable society of my good followers, and can 
marry the girl, and take her with you. I think 
that the best scheme.” 

“ Scheme number three,” remarks the detective. 

The bandit shoots a glance of inquiry at him. 
But the detective does not move a muscle of his 
face; so he breaks out in a torrent of laughter: 

“ Yes, just so; scheme number three.” 

“ And Mordaunt. What is to become of him? ” 


102 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Oh, I will send him about his business when he 
arrives.” 

Not an appearance of deceit in the face of the 
bandit as he speaks, but Mexican Bill knows he is 
lying. It has all occurred as the woman Pepita has 
said. 

“ I am ready to sign,” he announces, quietly. 

“ Good! Here are the papers,” spreading them 
out. 

Bill glances over them, truly cleverly written. 

“ Pen and ink,” he says. 

“ Ah, we don’t need them. Ink is so liable to 
get spilled, I don’t carry it about me. I have an 
indelible pencil; that is just as good.” 

The detective feels his heart sink. No ink, only 
an indelible pencil. The bandit holds it in his hand. 
It is one of those aniline pencils which are consid- 
ered in law as valid as ink. What can he do? If 
he signs with that pencil, the bandit can claim the 
property. But he must not hesitate; he takes it, he 
prepares to sign. Ah! he sees a way out of the 
difficulty. The pencil case is an automatic one. It 
is necessary to press a spring upon the end to allow 
the lead to fall in position to write. He turns to 
make some remark to the priest, and, as he does so, 
presses the spring and the lead falls upon the floor. 
As if unconscious of the fact, he puts his foot upon 
it and crushes it to powder. The pe^icil is useless/ 
Now he can use his sympathetic ink. He makes 
as if to sign, then looks up with a smile. 

“ I don’t think I can use your pencil, Valdoso,” 
he says, “ there is no lead in it.*' 


SCHEME NUMBER THREE 103 

“ Oh, you don’t understand it. Press the knob 
on the end. The lead is inside.” 

The detective hands him the pencil. 

“ You put it in position,” he says. ” You under- 
stand it.” 

Valdoso takes the pencil. He presses the spring. 
No lead. 

“ Why, that is strange,” he cries. “ It must have 
dropped out.” 

He looks around the floor. Bill does not move 
his foot. 

“ Well, it ain’t here,” the bandit says at last. “ I 
suppose I’ll have to go for some ink.” 

Now is the time. 

“ I always carry ink with me,” the detective says, 
producing the little traveler’s companion. “ If you 
wish, I will use this.” 

“ All right. I guess the boys did not search you 
very well, or they would have confiscated this.” 

“ It is so small that it probably escaped their 
notice. Have you a pen? ” 

“ There is one connected with this pencil-case,” 
adjusting it. “ There you are. Go ahead.” 

The papers are signed, and, with an evil look of 
triumph, the bandit calls upon his companions to 
sign as witnesses. 

This done, he carefully folds the papers, and puts 
them in his pocket. Then, slapping the detective 
on the back, he cries: 

“ Well, that is over with. Come. You shall 
breathe the fresh air again. We will have a sump- 
tuous repast together. Come.” And, leading the 


104 


MEXICAN BILL 


way, he conducts them from the cave — the heavy 
wall which blocks the entrance moves easily at his 
touch, disclosing a narrow passage — through this, 
out into the open air. 

With a feeling of relief, the detective inhales the 
fresh air. He is free at any rate. Now he maybe 
able to accomplish something. It must be done in 
twenty-four hours, for, at the end of that time, the 
bandit may discover that he has been tricked, and 
there will be little possibility of escape then. 

Ho, Pedro! ” shouts the bandit chief to one of 
his band, “ have a royal feast spread in the open 
air. My dear friend, Mexican Bill, is going to do 
me the honor of dining with me.” 

The fellow was sullenly casting a glance of ha- 
tred at the detective. 

The bandit consults his watch. “ Nearly three 
o’clock,” he says. “ Have everything ready at 
four.” 

The fellow hurries away. 

“ I expect young Daggett at about that time,” 
he adds, to Bill. “ We will eat together.” 

“ Don’t you think that an unwise thing to do? ” 
suggests the detective. “ It will arouse suspicion 
in his mind to see us on friendly terms. ” 

What difference will that make? He will know 
you as his relative soon, at any rate. But, if you 
prefer, we will dine alone. ” 

. The detective has been somewhat taken aback 
at the bandit’s proposition. The woman had said 
that he was going to keep his knowledge of the 
existing relationship a secret. But he had pro- 


SCHEME NUMBER THREE 10$ 

posed bringingthem together. For what purpose? 
Perhaps he had not meant it. 

The bandit seems in the best of spirits, genial, 
jovial, joking with the man who is on the lookout 
for danger. 

They wander about the stronghold of the robbers 
until the meal is ready, and then the chief conducts 
him to the table. 

It is spread beneath the shade of a large tree; 
and Bill observes, as he takes his place, that he can 
command a view to the entrances of the various 
caves where the bandits live. 

The meal is really a sumptuous one, and he eats 
heartily, following the example of his host, who is 
possessed of an enormous appetite. He feels easy 
in his mind; he knows the food is free from poison- 
ous matter. The chief does not wish to destroy 
him in this manner, it seems. 

They have just finished, and have lighted cigars, 
when Bill sees a member of the band hurrying 
toward his chief. He is evidently on business of 
importance, for he is approaching rapidly. 

“ The Englishman, Sehor Capitan,” he says, as 
he reaches them. 

“ Ah! your cousin,” announces the chief, turning 
to Bill. “ I must go meet him. Remain here 
and enjoy your smoke. I may not return for an 
hour or so, but don’t mind me, make yourself at 
home.” 

He follows the man toward the narrow, rocky 
path that lead to the bandits* stronghold. He is 
soon lost to sight. 


io6 


MEXICAN BILL 


Mordaunt Daggett has arrived. At dark the 
emissaries of destruction will be dispatched to 
the camp of Arthur Daggett. He must act soon. 

He hears the musical tones of a woman murmur- 
ing the words of a Mexican love song. He looks 
up, and sees Pepita standing at the entrance to one 
of the caves. No one is in sight. He hurries 
toward her. 

She smiles and disappears. The next moment 
he is following her along the subterranean passage 
that leads to one of the caves. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE ARRIVAL OF MORDAUNT DAGGETT. 

As Valdoso hurries along the path to meet 
young Daggett, he smiles covertly — a smile of 
triumph, of self-congratulation. 

“ I think I have thrown him completely off his 
guard,” he mutters. “ That allusion to inviting 
Mordaunt to eat with us, I think, had a good effect, 
and the good meal, the fine cigar, have done their 
work. Bah ! I thought him shrewd ; he is but a 
plaything in my hands. ” 

He has reached the spot where Mordaunt, 
showing the effect of his long ride, is awaiting him. 
The bandit notices that the young man looks pale 
and careworn. His eyes are circled with a dark 
line, are baggy underneath, showing loss of rest. 

“Ah! so you found your way here,” cries the 
bandit. 


THE ARRIVAL OF MORDAUNT DAGGETT IO7 

“ Yes, and I’m nearly played out,” mutters the 
young fellow. 

“ ril soon fix that all right; come, you need a 
good, square meal, some wine, and you’ll feel like 
a new man.” 

Daggett dismounts, and follows his elder in crime; 
not his superior, except in point of experience, for 
this young fellow has a heart as indifferent to feel- 
ings of remorse and shame as the most hardened 
criminal. He could plunder, murder and pillage, 
without one qualm. Valdoso calls a black-looking 
scoundrel, and directs him to look after Daggett’s 
horse, then leads the way to his quarters. 

“ How have you succeeded? ” asks Daggett sul- 
lenly, as they are seated. 

“ Everything has turned out just as I said. The 
lovely girl is waiting for her dear cousin. The 
redoubtable detective is in durance vile. The 
priest is ready at a moment’s notice, and behold, 
the bridegroom is here.” 

He speaks in a light, jesting tone; Mordaunt 
scowls. , 

“ Be serious. All this is good enough. But 
you remember, Valdoso, you told me that there was 
a living son. He must be done away with.” 

“ I have arranged for all that.” 

“ The girl must be ready to accompany me in 
the morning.” 

“ She will feel gratified at your earnest desire to 
remove her from our contaminating influence. I 
think she will be willing enough to leave us. ” 

“ You have sent the men to the camp? ” 


io8 


MEXICAN BILL 


They depart at nightfall. 

“ Good.” A moment’s thought. 

“ Valdoso,” suspiciously, “ I must see this son of 
Hugh Daggett die, with my own eyes. ” 

Valdoso starts. 

- “ Well, you are a suspicious one,” he says. 

“ I know my man,” answers the young villain. 

“ You will probably see him die;” and the bandit 
averts his eyes. 

Silence for the moment, then Daggett says: 

“ I would like to see this man. Does he resem- 
ble me in any way? Does he bear a family resem- 
blance? He speaks curiously.” 

“ No; I think not,” replies the bandit. “ You 
can see him,” he adds. 

“When?” eagerly. 

“ I will have him wait on you at the table, as 
soon as your supper is prepared. ” 

“ Good. I will have ample time to observe 
him.” 

A man enters the cave. 

“ The food is prepared,” he announces. 

“ Good! Send Alberto with it.” 

The man departs. 

“ Is that the name you have given Hugh Dag- 
gett's son? ’’asks Mordaunt, as the fellow leaves 
them alone. 

“ Yes, hark! He comes. ” 

The young man leans back in the camp chair he 
is occupying, his eyes fixed on the entrance; he 
does not observe the smile of contempt on the lip 
of his companion. The curtains are shoved aside. 


THE ARRIVAL OF MORDAUNT DAGGETT lOQ 

and a young man enters with a tray; a tall, dark, 
handsome young fellow, attired in full Mexican cos- 
tume. 

“ Hugh Daggett’s son,” remarks the bandit, in a 
tone loud enough to be heard by the newcomer. 

“ He will hear you,” remonstrated Daggett, 
angrily. 

“ No matter; he cannot understand, he speaks 
and knows only Spanish.” 

“ Ah! ” and Daggett looks with intense interest 
upon the silent, handsome man. 

He leaves the cave. 

“ What do you think of him? ” asks Valdoso. 

” He does not resemble his father.” 

He eats his meal in silence. He is hungry, and 
is anxious to see his beautiful cousin. 

“ Now, conduct me to Millicent,” he demands, 
rising from the table. 

” Ah! the lover is eager to greet his loved one,” 
sneers the bandit. 

“ A truce to your sneers, Valdoso,” cries the 
young man, impatiently; “ conduct me to her.” 

Your honor shall be obeyed,” answers the ban- 
dit, mockingly; and, drawing back the curtains 
that conceal the entrance to a narrow passage, in 
the rear, he disappears, followed by Daggett. 

For fully five minutes he hurries along, and then, 
stopping suddenly, he turns to the left, and the 
next moment Mordaunt sees the glimmer of a light 
before him. He approaches it, and is soon stand- 
ing before his cousin. 


I lO 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Miss Daggett, your cousin Mordaunt,” an- 
nounces Valdoso, and leaves them together. 

The girl has been reclining upon a couch of furs. 
She rises with a quick, impetuous movement as 
Valdoso speaks, and, putting back her hair from 
her eyes with one jeweled hand, she confronts him. 

“ Dear Millicent,” he murmurs, stepping toward 
her. 

Her action frightens him, for, with a cry of 
horror, of loathing, she recoils from him. 

“You! ” she cries; “you dare to approach me! 
and with an endearing word upon your lips! 
Scoundrel! ” 

He blushes. 

“ What do you mean? ” he cried. 

“ Mean! Do you not know? Hear me! I 
know you are instrumental in my being here. I 
heard the ruffians who brought me here talking 
about it in Spanish. I understand Spanish. I 
heard the story of your base treachery.” 

“ I did it all for love of you,” he murmurs. 

She looks bewildered. 

“For love of me?” she repeats. “Had me 
stolen from my father through love of me? Speak! 
Explain ! ” She cannot comprehend his words. 

He approaches her. 

“ I loved you so. You were so cold to me. I 
allowed myself to be carried away by my evil pas- 
sions. I so wanted you for myself alone that I 
arranged to have you abducted. Forgive me, dear; 
do not blame me; I was mad.” 

He kneels at her feet; he presses his lips to the 


THE ARRIVAL OF MORDAUNT DAGGETT III 


hem of her dress. She looks down upon him con- 
temptuously. 

“ And did you think I would love you more by 
so doing?” she asks, coldly. 

“ I don’t know. I did not stop to think. I 
only gave way to my evil passion.” 

He is still kneeling. She draws away from him. 
She sits upon the couch, wondrously calm now. 

“ And, now that I am in your power, what do 
you propose to do? ” she asks. 

He hesitates. Her knowledge of his baseness 
has taken him by surprise. He has had another 
story to tell; that she had been abducted and held 
for ransom by the bandits. He had come to rescue 
her, to pay the money and take her back. But he 
had not been able to use that fiction. She knows 
all; so he hesitates. 

“Ah, you hesitate,” she murmurs. “You did 
not lay your plans well. You did not determine 
what was to be done with your victim after she had 
been torn from her father’s side.” 

He paces the cave. 

“ Yes,” he cries suddenly, “ I had determined, 
I still am determined, you must become my wife.” 

She looks at him in utter amazement. 

“ Your wife? ” she cries, in tones of surprise, of 
horror. “ You imagine for one instant that I will 
be your wife? ” 

“ Why not? ” he speaks harshly. 

“ Why not? You seem to think it a matter of 
course that I will accept you now after you have 
subjected me to so much sorrow, such humiliation. 


MEXICAN BILL 


1 12 

You seem to think that I will fly to your arms. 
Never! I would prefer to die in this horrible place, 
never to look upon my father’s face again, rather 
than become your wife. The name of wife is a holy 
one. The true wife must honor and obey her hus- 
band. I could not honor you. I detest you; I 
loathe you. You are a creeping snake, a con- 
temptible dog.” 

She has risen in her anger and faces him, looking 
divinely beautiful as she stands, robed in white, the 
loose neglige wrapper she had donned to sleep in 
the night she was abducted, her magnificent hair 
falling in heavy, waving masses about her shoulders. 

He recoils for an instant, his dark face flushed 
and angry. The next he faces her ; he seizes her 
wrist, and hisses in her ear. 

“ So, my lady,” he cries, “ that is your opinion 
of me, is it. That is your answer. Well, let me 
tell^^?^, you are in my power. You are surrounded 
by those who will do my bidding. You shall be 
forced to become my wife, despite your protests, 
despite your tears, if you should resort to them. 
You are mine. There is not one to say me nay. 
Your father is dead, you are alone in the world, 
dependent upon my mercy.” 

She hears the words, feels his hot breath upon 
her cheek. Her head grows dizzy, a blur comes 
before her eyes. She feels that she is helpless, 
and, with the cry, “ O God 1 my father,” she falls 
in a deathlike swoon in his arms. 

He looks down upon her pale face in alarm. He 


THE ARRIVAL OF MORDAUNT DAGGETT II3 

sees the white eyelids fluttering, feels the heart 
throbbing, as he holds her to him. 

He lays her gently upon the couch. He has 
gone too far, has said too much. 

“ I did not intend to tell her of her father’s death,” 
he mutters; “ But she drove me mad with her 
words, with her angry, flashing eyes.” 

He looks about the cave for something to restore 
her to consciousness. Ah! a jug of water. He 
sprinkles some of it upon her pale face, forces 
some between her lips. 

With a long-drawn, convulsive sigh, she comes 
to herself. The fluttering eyelids slowly open, and 
she looks up in his face. 

“ Millicent! ” he cries, “ You are yourself again! ” 

“ Leave me,” she murmurs. “ Go! ” 

He stands, sullen and irresolute. 

” Come,” he says at last, “ you may as well look 
at this matter in a sensible light. You are at my 
mercy. You had better say yes — gracefully. I 
will not make you a bad husband. ” 

“ O God. O merciful Heaven! Is there no 
escape from this fiend? Must I yield to him?” 
she sobs, rocking her form to and fro upon the 
edge of the couch. 

“ Call upon Heaven as much as you choose,” he 
sneers sullenly. “ No one can help you. God’s 
ears are closed. ” 

“ Liar! ” He hears a manly voice thunder in his 
ear, “ God’s ear is never closed to the cry of the 
helpless. ” 

Mexican Bill 8 


MEXICAN BILL 


I 14 

He turns to speak. The next moment he is 
thrown to the floor of the cave, and, despite his 
struggle, is bound and blindfolded. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE SECRET OF THE TIN BOX. 

Down into the bowels of the earth the gallant 
detective follows Pepita, the wife of the bandit 
king. He does not fear treachery from her, for the 
first glance into the depths of her liquid dark eyes 
has assured him of her truth and honesty. So, 
with a heart beating with eagerness, a mind filled 
with vague curiosity, he follows on. Before him 
he can see the quickly gliding form; so graceful, so 
lithe for one of her age. She is making rapid 
headway, and he quickens his footsteps to reach 
her side. She halts before a heavy curtain of vel- 
vet, and, pushing it to one side, turns and beckons 
him to follow, and the next moment is lost to sight. 

She has entered the cavern. He is soon with 
her, and finds, with astonishment, that the interior 
of this apartment is furnished in the most costly 
and magnificent style. Soft carpets and Turkish 
rugs are spread out upon the stone floor; massive 
tables and chairs of ebony and mahogany are placed 
about the cave; rare tapestries and curtains of 
velvet and gold hide the walls. 

He stands and looks about him. 

“ Well, this is clever,” he cries. She does not 
speak, but has carefully searched the apartment, 


THE SECRET OF THE TIN BOX II5 

looking behind articles of furniture, curtains and 
portieres^ as if to assure herself that there is no one 
in hiding. Then she reclines upon a velvet-covered 
divan, and motions him to an ottoman near her. 

He obeys the motion. 

She begins speaking hurriedly and constrainedly. 

“ Mexican Bill, what I have to say must be said 
quickly; for almost at any moment Valdoso may 
choose to visit me, and he must not find you here. 
Do not ask questions, but listen, and remember all 
you hear. You heard, from Juan Valdoso, this 
morning, that you were the only son of Hugh Dag- 
gett, and that he had proofs of the fact; but he did 
not tell you where those proofs were, and did not 
produce them. He never had any idea of keeping 
faith with you, even as I have told you before. 
You asked me this morning why I still remained 
with Valdoso, why I suffered myself to endure the 
life of horrible crime of which he is the instigator. 
I told you I loved him. Alas, but too true; for, in 
spite of all, I still love Juan Valdoso; I cannot tear 
it from my heart. But there is a story to tell — a 
story which you must know, and then, when you 
understand all, I shall furnish you with the proofs, 
which will reveal to the world who and what you 
are. I have them. They have been intrusted to 
me by Valdoso.'' 

She stops; the detective leans forward, and cries 
eagerly: 

“ You have those papers here? ” 

“ Yes, here. ” She rises, and goes to a small brass- 
bound box on the opposite side of the cave; she 


116 


MEXICAN BILL 


opens it with a key which she has suspended by a 
ribbon about her neck, and removes a small 
lacquered tin box, what is known as a cash box; 
this she brings to the young man. 

“ In that box are all of Hugh Daggett’s papers, 
and the proofs of your identity. I will show them 
to you after I have told you my life story. I know 
you are impatient, but it is necessary you should 
hear me before I open the box.” 

“ Why? Has your story anything to do with 
Hugh Daggett’s papers? ” He speaks curiously; a 
strange look comes to her eyes. 

“ You will understand when I have spoken,” she 
murmurs, in a low tone. 

He shrugs his shoulders, and composes himself to 
listen. With averted eyes, she begins. 

“ I am the only daughter of Senor Andre Pedrillo, 
of Barcelona. My father, a man of great wealth, 
had engaged me in marriage, when yet quite young, 
to a man I detested ; first, because he was many 
years my senior ; second, because I loved another, 
a handsome, daring officer in the army. Need I 
say that this was the man you know as Juan Val- 
doso ? My father was stern, and, unheeding my 
protests, married me to the man I hated, a noble of 
our land. My married life was anything but pleas- 
ant. I received the advances of my husband with 
coldness and hatred. I loved the other, and met 
him frequently. The knowledge of these meetings 
was made known to my husband by one I had 
trusted, and he challenged my paramour (as he 


THE SECRET OF THE TIN BOX 11/ 

termed him, though God knows I was as pure as 
an unborn babe) to a duel. 

“ I was a witness to the fight. I saw my hus- 
band fall, pierced by the rapier of him I loved. He 
died almost immediately. I ran to his bleeding 
corpse, upbraiding myself as the cause of it all. 

“ My lover drew me away. * It is over,’ he said. 
‘ He is dead, and you are mine. Come.’ 

Without a moment’s preparation, without even 
returning to the house, I fled with him. We left 
the country, taking passage upon a sailing vessel, 
which brought us to Mexico. We were married by 
an old padre in the City of Mexico. 

“ Shortly after our marriage, my husband revealed 
to me his true character — that of a bandit. He 
had been instrumental in causing the loss of life and 
property to hundreds in our native country. He 
proposed to organize a band of desperadoes here. 
His words fell like ice upon my heart. I pleaded 
with him. Kneeling at his feet, with tears in my 
eyes, I besought him to give up this life, but to no 
purpose. He was resolved. He could not return 
to Spain; he must remain in Mexico. I was obliged 
to submit, and have been an unwilling witness to 
scenes of heartless cruelty, of fiendish crime. ” 

She hesitates for a moment, the detective watch- 
ing her, with pity in his dark eyes — eyes so like 
her own. 

She begins again, then stops. A slight noise in 
the passage. She arises, with a startled look in 
her eyes, and glides noiselessly to the heavy cur- 
tains. 


ii8 


MEXICAN BILL 


The detective, with beating heart, arises to his 
feet and listens. Yes; the noise increases in vol- 
ume. Some one is walking along the passage toward 
the cave. 

She turns, with the white look of fear upon her 
face. 

“ Valdoso! she whispers. “ Fly! ” 

He looks about him in bewilderment. Fly! but 
where? He turns to find some place of hiding. 
Too late! 

The curtains are shoved aside, and the bandit 
king stands in the opening. 

He looks in amazement upon the scene — a look 
that changes to fierce anger as he sees the detective 
and his wife. Then he strides toward her and 
roughly seizes her wrist. 

“ What does this mean! ” he hisses, turning her 
toward him with brutal force. 

“ Juan, hear me! ” She is at his feet. 

“ Hear you! I am waiting to hear you. Explain, 
and do not tempt me beyond endurance.” 

His breath is coming in quick gasps. His eyes 
are fierce and terrible in his anger. 

She tries to invent some excuse; she sobs out a 
few unintelligible words. 

He does not hear her. His eyes are roving 
about the cave. He is thinking. Suddenly, with 
a cry, he throws her from him. He has seen the 
tin box. 

He springs toward it; but the detective sees the 
movement, and seizes it. He holds it tightly. 


THE SECRET OF THE TIN BOX II9 

“ No, Juan Valdoso. This is my property,” the 
young man cries. 

The bandit recoils. 

“Your property!” he hisses. “Damn you! 
poor imbecile, fool! all here is mine! this 
woman, this place, the hundreds of men who 
but await the sound of my whistle — you! All is 
mine! Don’t arouse me! Be warned! I am a 
devil when opposed. I will tear you in pieces if 
you attempt to thwart me. Give me that box, and 
then I will listen calmly to your explanation.” 

He is a fearful sight to behold, as he stands froth- 
ing at the mouth from the intensity of his passion; 
his wild eyes glaring, his stern features convulsed. 

The young man clutches the box so much more 
firmly. 

“ I do not fear you, bandit,” he cried, drawing 
himself haughtily erect. “Foam! rage! curse! 
You are but a pitiful object to look upon — not a 
fearful one. I have heard coyotes snarl before.” 

“ Give me that box.” 

“ Come and take it.” 

The bandit hesitates; then he says, in a low, sar- 
donic tone: 

“ I shall do so in one moment. Before I do so, 
I will tell you something. I do this now^ for the 
reason that, when I am through with you, you will 
not be in a fit condition to understand me. The 
contents of that box will never be of benefit to 
you, for you will never leave this place alive. 
Understand me! I am going to kill you before 
this woman, my wife, who seems to take an interest 


120 


MEXICAN BILL 


in you. My men are speeding on their way to the 
camp of Arthur Daggett. Ah, you start. Well, 
it is so. To-morrow he and his people will be so 
many lifeless corpses. At this moment, Mordaunt 
Daggett is in the cave with the beautiful Millicent, 
and in an hour she will be his wife. I tell you all 
this, for you must die knowing how helpless you 
are to prevent me from carrying out my plans, 
how foolish you were to trust me, your implaca- 
ble enemy. Now I am going to kill you! ” 

He hisses the words through his set teeth, and, 
drawing his keen-edged poinard, he sprang for- 
ward. 

The woman struggles to her feet. She throws 
herself upon him. 

“Juan!” she cries, beseechingly. “Juan! do 
not kill him! ” 

With a curse, he throws her from him. She falls 
with a thud upon the floor. As she does so, the 
detective springs upon the bandit. He seizes the 
hand that clutches the shining knife, and endeavors 
to force it from him. 

Backward, forward, from one side of the cave to 
the other, these two strong men struggle. The 
detective is no child; he is a trained athlete, and is 
more than an equal for the man who is eager to 
destroy him. He presses him back, and, with a flnal 
eflbrt, putting forth all his strength, he throws him 
heavily upon the floor, his head striking the edge 
of the brass-bound box. 

The bandit lies insensible, the blood coursing 
down over his rich dress from a wound in his head. 


THE SECRET OF THE TIN BOX 


I2I 


Hurriedly Mexican Bill removes his sash, and 
binds his hands behind him; then, finding a rawhide 
lariat upon the floor, he performs a similar service 
for his feet and legs. Then he turns his attention 
to the woman. She opens her eyes as he bends 
over her; she struggles to her feet. 

“ Where is he? ” she murmurs. 

Bill points to the prostrate form. 

“ He is not dead! ” she cries. 

, “ No; only insensible.’^ 

She turns to him quickly, passionately. 

“ For the love of heaven fly! ” she cries. “ Fly 
before he recovers consciousness. Take the pass- 
age to the right; it will lead you to the cavern 
where the girl is confined. Hasten to her, and 
leave this place; and, oh, do not allow yourself to 
be taken; you must not die.” 

He hesitates. 

“ But you,” he says. 

“ Do not think of me. He will not harm me. 
When he recovers I will be obliged to unbind him, 
and he will search the country for you. I will 
delay him. I have chloroform. I will administer 
some of it to him. But hasten, or all will be lost.” 

He grasps her hands; he presses them to his 
lips. 

God bless you! ” he cries. “ You are a true 
friend.” 

She murmurs some unintelligible words. He 
grasps the tin box, and hurriedly leaves the cavern; 
on to the right, to the cell where Millicent Daggett 
is a prisoner. 


122 


MEXICAN BILL 


He hears the sound of voices in anger. He dis- 
tinguishes the words of her whom he seeks, and her 
villainous cousin. 

“ God’s ears are closed! ” he hears the man say. 

The next moment he is in the cave. He is upon 
the wretch who stands before the white-robed 
maiden, and bears him to the rocky floor of the 
cavern, binding and blindfolding him. 

Then he turns, and raises the insensible form of 
the girl in his arms (for she has fainted again at his 
entrance), and bears her from the cave, his heart 
beating with intense joy, his brain devising some 
way of escape. 

He holds the tin box by the handle upon the top. 
He must not lose that; it contains proofs of his 
identity. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FLIGHT — THE PURSUIT. 

Through a long, dark passage Mexican Bill 
pursues his way, stumbling along in the pitchy 
blackness of the subterranean passage, on until in 
the distance he sees the stars twinkling in the sky 
before him. 

He knows it is the entrance to the caverns. 

Never halting, still bearing the insensible form 
of the girl in his arms, he remembers he is unarmed. 
What can he do? What possible chance can he 
have if attacked or pursued? None whatever. He 
must in some way obtain arms; how, he does not 


THE FLIGHT 


123 


know; he cannot stop to think; but, with a prayer 
to Heaven, he continues on hoping. As he draws 
near the entrance, he hears the sound of revelry 
without — voices • raised in boisterous glee and 
song. Evidently the bandits are enjoying them- 
selves. The sound grows so intense as he ap- 
proaches nearer the open air and liberty, that he 
halts for a moment, putting his precious burden 
gently down, and listens. 

He hears a deep-drawn sigh from the lips of his 
charge, and knows she is returning to consciousness, 
and, even as he thinks, she whispers, “ Where am 
I?” in a frightened voice. He assures her of her 
safety, telling her that he will protect her and save 
her from the fate she dreads. 

It is so dark that he cannot see her face; but, by 
the quick, impulsive movement which she makes, 
he knows she is satisfied and trusts him. 

“ Remain here for one moment,” he whispers; “ I 
must investigate.” 

“ I will follow you,” she says, fearfully. “ I will 
be by your side.” 

He cautions her to be as quiet as possible, and 
noiselessly proceeds toward the entrance. She is 
behind him. 

He stealthily peers out. 

Yes, he was right; the bandits are carousing. 
He sees them gathered about a blazing fire, kindled, 
not for the purpose of warmth (for the weather is 
warm), but for light. In the ruddy glare he can see 
their dark, fierce faces — can see them drinking and 
smoking. 


124 


MEXICAN BILL 


And, more than this, he sees, leaning against 
the rocky wall, near the entrance to the cavern, a 
stack of rifles, some belts of cartridges and re- 
volvers. They have relieved themselves of the 
weight of their arms, the better to enjoy their spree. 

With a prayer of thankfulness to God, he creeps 
stealthily toward the weapons, and possesses him- 
self of two belts, two braces of revolvers (six- 
shooters), and a Winchester repeating rifle. He 
has secured a brace of the revolvers for the girl. 
He does not know whether she can use them or 
not, but he thinks she can carry them, at any rate. 

He finds her awaiting him. “ All is well,” he 
murmurs. “ I am armed.” He straps the belt and 
heavy revolvers about her delicate waist. They 
are heavy, but she does not complain; then, seeing 
that those in his possession are loaded, he bids her 
follow him, and creeps along in the shadow of the 
rock until the risk of being seen is not so great, 
and then plunges into the narrow strip of forest 
that skirts the plateau. Here he halts for an instant. 

“ We have arms,” he mutters, as if to himself, 
** but no ponies. ” 

“ I think I know where they are kept, ” she whis- 
pers. 

“ Do you? How do you know? ” 

“ I saw where the men put them the morning we 
arrived.” 

“ Good.” He feels that everything is coming 
his way; everything favors him. 

“ We will be obliged to pass those men to reach 
the spot,” she murmurs. 


THE FLIGHT 


125 


His heart sinks. How can that be done without 
detection. But they must try. Every moment 
is precious. He takes her hand, and creeps through 
the trees, toward the fire. He is within twenty 
feet of the drinking, smoking bandits, when a shout 
rings out upon the air, and a man runs toward them. 
He shouts some words in Spanish, and Bill knows 
that Valdoso has been found bound. The men 
around the fire spring to their feet; all is confusion, 
they hurry into the cavern. 

“ Now is our time,” whispers the detective, and, 
with the fair girl by his side, he hurries past the 
fire, along the plateau, to the spot where Millicent 
has seen the ponies corraled. 

Fortune is on their side, for they find several of 
the little beasts, saddled and bridled, tied to some 
posts along the edge of the corral. He assists her 
into the saddle of one, and springs upon the back 
of another, and then, with the rifle slung over his 
shoulder, tightly clutching the tin box, he urges 
his pony down the rocky path. 

In the confusion and haste, he has not stopped 
to select any particular animal; but his heart fills 
with joy as he recognizes his own faithful little 
beast in the one he bestrides, and knows that he is 
safe to distance his pursuers, providing the animal 
which bears the girl can keep pace with him. 

Clatter! clatter! along the narrow path they fly. 
Hark! the sound of pursuit; hoarse, angry 
voices; cries of savage hatred, are borne on the 
night air to the ears of the fugitives. 


126 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Oh, God! If they should overtake us,” bursts 
from the white lips of the girl. 

“ Trust in me; I will save you,” murmurs the 
detective. He means to try, and ominously loosens 
the pistols in his belt. 

They have only about ten minutes start, but, if 
the ponies hold out, there is a chance of escape. 

With compressed lips, silent as the grave, the 
long-haired detective rides like the wind, the girl 
urging on her pony, and riding close behind him. 

With consternation. Bill hears the little beast 
panting behind him, and the truth flashes upon his 
mind that the pony will not be able to keep 
up. He informs Millicent of this. 

“ I thought so,” she murmured. 

But they keep on, on, until, with a gasp, the 
little beast staggers and falls. 

Luckily the girl leap off his back, and alights 
safely upon her feet. The moon breaks forth 
from under a cloud as the little animal gives out, 
and, in the light, the girl cries: 

“ I know this pony. He belongs to our camp.” 

The truth comes to Bill. She has been riding 
the pony upon whose back Mord^unt Daggett has 
ridden to the outlaw’s stronghold. 

The beast has had a long, tiresome journey. He 
cannot stand this one. 

Without comment or hesitation, he lifts the 
maiden upon his own little beast, and then mounts 
behind her. He fears the animal will not be able 
to bear up under the combined weight long; but 
something must be done; there is no time for con- 


THE FLIGHT 


127 


sideration. The little black broncho does not seem 
to mind his burden at first, but strikes out in the 
same mad, swift gallop he has before kept up. 
But not many miles have been traveled before Bill 
detects signs of distress in the animal. At the same 
moment he hears cries of fiendish triumph behind 
him. The dead broncho has been discovered by 
the pursuers; they know that there is little chance 
of escape for these two with only one horse 
between them. 

Suddenly, like an inspiration, comes to the brave 
detective the memory of a mass of rocks, which, 
if they can be reached, will serve as a fortress for 
himself and the fair one — a high, towering mass, 
which bears the name of the “ Tower of the Sun,” 
so straight up do they reach, so high are they. 
There is a path leading to the top, just wide enough 
for one horse and rider; and the detective knows 
that, if he can but reach the spot, he can hold his 
enemies at bay, and probably in some way escape 
them. 

“ It cannot be over five miles distant,” he mur- 
murs, and, looking about him to see if some familiar 
landmark is in sight to guide him, he turns his 
pony’s head to the right; he recognizes his sur- 
roundings; he knows that the “ Tower of the Sun ” 
cannot be far off. Three miles are covered, the 
sound of the pursuers’ voices and the dull thud of 
their ponies’ hoofs gradually become more and 
more distinct; they are not far off. 

“ On, brave fellow,” whispers Bill to his pony. 


128 


MEXICAN BILL 


The little beast is panting, greatly distressed; 
he cannot possibly go much farther. 

At last, with a cry of joy, the cowboy detective 
sees the “ tower” looming up before him, not over 
one-half mile away; its top is reflected in the 
bright light of the moon, which casts a silvery 
radiance upon the grim, gray rocks. The girl is 
praying; the pony struggles on, he seems imbued 
with his master’s spirit. The bandits are close 
upon them. Zip! a bullet whistles past their ears; 
then sounds the report. 

“ On, pony; but a little farther.” 

Gasping, groaning, trembling in every limb, the 
faithful animal reaches the foot of the “ tower. ” 

** Saved! ” cries Bill, springing from his back, and 
raising the girl in his arms. 

He hurries up the path leading to the top, the 
broncho following like a dog. He does not wish 
to leave his master, this faithful beast. 

They make the top; the detective places his pre- 
cious charge upon her feet, and at that moment the 
broncho staggers and falls exhausted, and the pur- 
suers are at the foot of the tower. The path lead- 
ing to the top is a narrow, precipitous one, and the 
detective knows that but one man at a time can 
ascend. He looks well to the cartridges in his 
weapons, and, with a grim compression of his lips, 
an ominous flash in his eye, he awaits the coming 
of the first. 


THE BATTLE IN THE MOUNTAINS 


129 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE BATTLE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

The bandits halt at the foot of the “ tower.” 
Full well the wily Valdoso (who leads them) knows 
this spot. He knows that one man, well armed, 
can hold at bay a score or more, secure from harm, 
within the rocky fastnesses of this natural fortress. 

Cursing, he dismounts, and begins to investigate 
the surroundings. He thinks that, perhaps, some 
other means can be adopted to secure his prey. 
Mordaunt approaches him. 

“ Why don’t you follow on up the hill? ” he asks. 

The bandit turns upon him with a sneer. 

“ And be wiped out, one at a time? Mind your 
own affairs. I know what I am doing.” 

With an angry flush, the young villain stands 
back. His restless eye scrutinizes the band of 
bloodthirsty men who have accompanied him. 
Ah! he recognizes one of them. He sees the 
handsome boyish face of him whom he believes to 
be Hugh Daggett’s son, the face of Alberto. 

A grim smile comes to his lips. This man may 
be killed by a stray bullet this night. Who can 
tell? 

He walks over to his pony, and absently watches 
Valdoso, as he creeps around the base of the tower 
in search of some means of ascent, not so danger- 
ous as the path. He mutters, as he watches : 

“ Curse this long-haired cowboy, who has 
turned up to thwart me. He must not escape.” 

Mexican Bill g 


130 


MEXICAN BILL 


The bandit chief is thinking much in the same 
strain. His evil heart is bitter against the handsome 
detective, who, unarmed, has overpowered and 
bound him. When he recovers himself, he finds 
his wife apparently in a faint near him. With much 
difficulty he arouses her and bids her loose him. 
She does so, and, with a curse, he springs along the 
passage leading to Millicent’s cave, only to find her 
gone and Mordaunt bound and blindfolded. He 
raves with passion when he sees this; shouts for 
one of his men; gives him orders, when he comes, 
to scour the cavern and surroundings for the fugi- 
tives. He knows they cannot be far away. And 
then, discovering their flight, himself leads the pur- 
suit, accompanied by Mordaunt. 

Now he is baffied again, for the time at least, 
and he mutters horrible curses as he hurries 
around the face of the “ tower.” 

Ah, this detective has much to pay for. He 
has but little chance for mercy among these men. 
For an hour he searches, assisted by some of the 
band. 

At last the young fellow, Alberto, hurries to 
him. 

“ I have found a way, Senor Capitan,” he says. 

An exclamation of joy from Valdoso. 

“ Where, now? ” he demands. 

The young bandit explains. There are a num- 
ber of small trees growing along one side of the 
rocks; also bushes and vines. It is possible to 
creep from one to the other, and finally reach the 
top. 


THE BATTLE IN THE MOUNTAINS 13I 

“ By G-d! Alberto, you have a good head,’' 
cries the chief. '* Suppose you try it. ” 

The young fellow bows, and hurries to put his 
idea into execution. With difficulty he climbs up 
the side, pulling himself up by vines and bushes; 
but he is soon half way up. 

“ Up! follow him! ” cries the chief to the others. 

They spring forward to do his bidding, and soon 
a dark line of living, breathing, bloodthirsty 
demons are climbing up the precipitous side of the 
rocks. 

Mordaunt has retired to the shadow of a clump 
of trees. He has his hand upon his revolver. He 
sees the bandits drawing nearer and nearer to the 
unsuspecting detective and his charges. Soon 
they will be down upon him. Ah! even as he 
looks, the head and shoulders of Mexican Bill 
appear above the top. He has seen the line of 
bandits; he is going to protect himself. He raises 
his revolver. “ Bang! ” and one of the attacking 
party falls, tumbling down the side. One of them, 
but not the foremost one, Alberto, is still 
unharmed. “Curse him! why could it not have 
been him!” This flashes through his mind. He 
must die! He raises his arm; the six-shooter glis- 
tens in the sunlight, as a few scattered rays break 
in through the trees. 

“ Bang,” the report sounds out on the air, and 
Alberto comes trembling, falling, crashing, almost 
at his very feet. He feels a firm, strong hand grasp 
his wrist, hears a fierce demand. 

“Why in h — 1 did you do that? He is one of 


132 


MEXICAN BILL 


my best men.” It is Valdoso, and Valdoso with 
an unpleasant look in his eyes. 

The young villain turns white, and moves unea- 
sily. 

“ I fired at Mexican Bill. I shot too low,” he 
mutters. 

*' You lie. D — n you ! You hear ? You lie ! 
I have a mind to run my knife through your cow- 
ardly heart. You skunk ! You thought that 
young Alberto was Hugh Daggett’s son. I told 
you that to mislead you for a purpose of my own. 
You. determined to put him put of the way. But, 
you white-livered, murdering dog, you have made 
a mistake. Alberto is not Hugh Daggett’s son.” 

“ My God ! Is this true? ” He staggers back. 

“ True? You can bet your worthless life on it. 
Do you see that long-haired man up there on the 
* Tower,’ that man we call Mexican Bill? Well, 
he is Hugh Daggett’s son, and has in his possession 
this minute the proofs of his identity and of his 
father’s death. They are in a tin box, which he 
stole from me after binding me. D n him! ” 

With eyes nearly bursting from their sockets, 
Mordaunt Daggett hears these words. That man 
Hugh, Daggett’s son, and with the proofs in his 
possession? And more, with Millicent Daggett 
under his care! His head reels as the full force of 
this comes to him. Then he thinks how can he 
put this man out of the way, and obtain possession 
of those precious documents. 

The voice of Valdoso sounds in his ears. 

** So you see how you stand,” he was saying. 


THE BATTLE IN THE MOUNTAINS 1 33 

“ If that man gets away from here, you are thrown 
completely out of the race.” 

“ He must not leave here alive.” 

“ He won’t if I can help it.” And the bandit 
turns to go to the foot of the path leading to the 
top. 

As he passes the corpse of young Alberto, he 
murmurs: “Poorboy! You were a better man than 
your cowardly murderer.” 

Mordaunt hears it. 

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. “ You are to 
blame. You lied to me. You even said were 
going to put him out of the way.” 

“ Well, perhaps I did. Say no more about it.” 

The bandit speaks abruptly, savagely. Mor- 
daunt keeps silent, and follows the chief. 

He can see the bandits still creeping to the top, 
keeping behind jutting boulders and the trunks of 
the small trees as much as possible. They fear the 
pellets of the brave 4^tective. They are now 
nearly all close together. They are going to make 
a solid, simultaneous attack upon the defender of 
innocence at the top. 

Ah, they are upon him. The shots sound out 
upon the night. The good Winchester is doing 
noble work. 

Valdoso utters a cry of triumph: “ I have him 
now,” he cries, and springs up the path, followed 
by Mordaunt. 

The detective, fighting against great odds, does 
not see them, does not know that these two mer- 
ciless ones are so near him — does not know until 


134 


MEXICAN BILL 


he hears a cry of terror from Millicent. He is 
struggling with a brawny Mexican as he hears the 
cry. Exerting all his strength, he pushes him over 
the edge, and turns to her. He sees the gleaming 
eyes of Valdoso, sees the slender figure of Mor- 
daunt Daggett. They are nearly to the top. He 
throws himself flat upon his stomach, and raises the 
girl to the ledge of rock where he has been stand- 
ing. 

“Shoot into those hell-hounds!” he cries. 
“ Keep them back! I will attend to these two. ” 

With a white, scared face, the girl fires three 
shots into the clambering, surging mass, and Bill 
turns to those two who are bent upon his destruc- 
tion; they have reached the top, and, with a groan, 
the detective sees Daggett seize the tin box. 

Millicent had not brought it with her when he 
had raised her upon the plateau. 

He must regain it; it is precious to him; he 
raises^ his rifle to shoot, when, like a flash, these 
words surged through his brain, “ You are Hugh 
Daggetfs son; he is your cousin ^ 

He lowers his rifle; he cannot kill his father’s 
brother’s son; but he will force it from him. Ah! 
Valdoso sees it in his hands; with a snarl, he 
snatches it from him. 

“ It is mine,” Bill hears him say; the next 
moment he is struggling with the bandit. The 
terrible struggle of two desperate, maddened men. 

Back and forth they writhe, each striving to 
secure the mastery over the other. Now the 
detective is on the bottom, but, by a mighty effort. 


THE BATTLE IN THE MOUNTAINS 


135 


he struggles to his feet. Breathlessly the young 
villain watches the contest, then, hearing the shots 
upon the plateau above, he looks up and sees the 
white-robed figure of Millicent Daggett keeping 
the bandit horde 'Sit bay. He springs to her side, 
fires two shots into their midst, and, seizing the 
screaming girl, leaps down from the plateau, and 
hurries down the path. Valdoso and the detective 
are still fiercely wrestling as he passes by. They 
have left the smooth, level, inclosed portion at the 
top, and the bandit is endeavoring to press the 
brave detective over the edge of the narrow path. 
If he succeeds in doing so, almost certain death 
awaits Mexican Bill at the bottom of the deep ravine 
which is below that position. The cowboy knows 
this; he fights with the desperation of death; he 
feels the tin box for which he is struggling tightly 
pressed against his breast; it is between them; he 
feels himself growing weaker; he looks up at the 
stars, sees them twinkling in the sky above him; 
then, clutching the bandit chief tightly with both 
arms, he falls backward, down, down, into the 
depths, carrying with him the bitter enemy who 
has tried to destroy him, the tin box that contains 
the proofs of his birth, of his very self. 

They fall; just as the band of fierce outlaws 
appear upon the scene; just as Mordaunt Daggett 
reaches the foot of the tower. 

He sees the terrible ending of the struggle, and, 
raising the unconscious form of his cousin upon the 
back of one of the ponies, he secures her so she 


MEXICAN BILL 


136 

cannot fall, and then, mounting another, he rides 
swiftly away in the night. 

“ All is over,” he mutters. “ I am victorious. 
They have both perished, and I am the sole heir 
to a princely fortune. Strange if I cannot manu- 
facture proofs of Hugh Daggett’s death, now that 
I know how it occurred, and there is no one left to 
contradict me. I will not allow that to stand in 
my way.” 

With demoniacal glee he chuckles to himself, 
and rides on, leading the other pony; rides until 
early morning light. 


CHAPTER XV. 

BARTHOLOMEW AND BASSETT. 

The day is fine; a gentle wind from the mount- 
ains serves to cool the hot air of September, 
which is unusually oppressive this year. 

Two men are sitting upon the broad veranda 
of the Phoenix Hotel, at the celebrated hot springs, 
six miles from Las Vegas, New Mexico. They are 
old acquaintances. We have met them before. 
Bartholomew the portly, Bassett the^diminutive. 

“ You certainly have a beautiful climate,” the 
English lawyer remarks, looking about him con- 
tentedly, “ your land is truly a paradise on earth. ” 

The face of Bartholomew flushes with pleasure. 

“ It is generally conceded by all tourists and visit- 
ors to our country, that it is the grandest on earth. 
Think of it. We embrace in one land, under one 


BARTHOLOMEW AND BASSETT 


137 


government, the beauties of the tropics and the 
delights of the arctics; within a few days’ ride, we 
can witness the remarkable extremes of all climates, 
show the most magnificent scenery, the most 
astounding natural curiosities, the remains of a 
people who have been among the most powerful of 
ancient times. Our land is a glorious one, a study 
for the ethnologist, the geologist, the philologist, 
and even the theologist. I sometimes wonder at 
our people traveling all over Europe, Asia and 
other continents, in search of wonders, when their 
own land is so much superior to them all, has so 
much of interest.” 

He speaks warmly. He loves his country. Bas- 
sett smiles. He makes no reply to his enthusiastic 
friend. 

“ Strange we have not heard from your cowboy 
detective,” he says, to change the subject. 

“ It is singular,” remarks the other, contracting 
his brows. “ But depend on it; he is at work. 
He may be in a section where the postal and tele- 
graphic service is deficient; he has not had an 
opportunity of communicating with us; depend 
upon it. I have the utmost faith in his ability, and 
feel confident that he will unravel the mystery.” 

I hope so,” thoughtfully. “ Let me see: it was 
from Las Vegas that I received the communication 
from Pietro Alvarez. He is buried there? ” 

“ I believe so.” 

Has he any friends or relatives living there? ” 

Really, I cannot say positively. I heard of his 


138 


MEXICAN BILL 


death from a Mexican during my researches. He 
was known well.” 

The little Englishman relapses into deep thought. 

“ Suppose we investigate the matter/’ he says, 
at last. “ There may be some one who knew him 
during his early life. We may gain some informa- 
tion. The distance from this place is not great, 
only a matter of six miles; we can easily ride in 
and pursue our inquiries.” 

“ A good idea,” cries Bartholomew. “ It is 
early. We can go to-day.’' 

The Englishman rises to his feet. 

“ We will,” he says, and they enter the hotel to 
make arrangements for ponies to bear them to Las 
Vegas. It does not take long to equip the ani- 
mals, and in an hour the two lawyers are riding 
leisurely along toward Las Vegas. They reach 
their destination within an hour and a half, and 
Bartholomew draws rein before a low adobe build- 
ing, in front of which are gathered a motley assem- 
blage of Mexicans, cowboys and a few Indians. 

The general appearance of the place suggests its 
character — that of a drinking place — and Bassett 
whispers to his companion as they dismount: 

“ Why do you stop here? ” 

“ The fellow who keeps this place knows every 
one within fifty miles. He can give us some infor- 
mation if he is worked right.” 

Oh! ” The Englishman understands. They 
enter the low building, leaving their quadrupeds in 
charge of a cowboy, who volunteers his services. 

The English lawyer looks curiously about him as 


BARTHOLOMEW AND BASSETT 


139 


they enter. The room is a long one, but narrow. 
A bar of solid oak extends nearly the full length of 
the room, a portion of which is covered with bot- 
tles of various liquors and boxes of cigars. The 
walls are decorated with highly colored paintings 
of questionable subjects — “Venus at the Bath,” 
“ A Spanish Lady,” and others. There is a liberal 
use of vermilion and chrome in the painting of the 
woodwork of the doors, windows and walls, and, 
altogether, the effect is decidedly gaudy and flashy. 

A middle-aged man, in a flannel shirt fastened at 
the throat with an enormous diamond pin, a pair 
of velvet breeches, and a wide sash of many colors, 
looks up as they enter. 

Bartholomew approaches him. “A little good 
rye whisky,” he says, smiling conciliatorily ; 
“ which will you have? ” he asks, turning to Bassett. 

“A little sherry wine,” answers that gentleman. 

The proprietor or bar-tender grins somewhat 
contemptuously. 

“ D — d weak drink,” he says. But he sets out 
the two bottles, and Bassett swallows the so-called 
“ sherry ” with a grimace. It seems to him a 
mixture of very inferior whisky and kerosene oil. 
Bartholomew controlled his features after drinking. 
The “good” rye is execrable. “Powdered glass 
and turpentine,” he thinks. He pays the amount 
due, and then glances about the place. 

“ Nice place you have,” he remarks. 

“ You can bet your boots it is,” answers the pro- 
prietor. “ I hev a d d good trade heah. It’s got 

to be nice to pull ’em.” 


140 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ So, I suppose you are well acquainted about 
these parts. Been here a long time? ” smiling. 

“ I run the first joint thet opened out heah. An, 
I reckon I run the best one now. Good rum, fancy 
joint, all the boys deal heah.” 

“Yes; your liquor is very good.” Bassett smiles; 
he cannot help it. If this is the best, the Lord help 
the worst. 

“ Did you ever know a man by the name of 
Alvarez?” inquires Bartholomew, casually. 

“ Pete Alvarez? Wal, I should say so. He’s 

croaked, you know. D d good thing too; a 

dirty greaser, a chronic lush; he give me a heap 
of trouble;” and the dark face of the man grows 
savage at the recollection. “ But I managed him,” 
he adds. “ I know how to run them jays. ” 

“ I suppose so,” and Bartholomew looks at the 
fellow with an air of assumed admiration. “ I sup- 
pose it requires a smart man like yourself, to 
handle these Mexicans? ”, 

“ Yes, and yer kin bet yer sweet life, I knows 
how to do it. They can’t play any monkey busi- 
ness with me,” drawing himself erect. 

“ Alvarez lived near here, I have have been told? ” 
“ Yes, ’bout a mile out; lived with a pal, another 
greaser.” 

“ Does he live there yet? ” 

“No; d n it! I toldyer Alvarez was croaked.” 

“ You don’t understand me. Does his ^ pal, ^ as 
you term him, live there yet? ” 

“ Oh, yes; Dirty Antonio, we call him. He’s 
there yet.” 


BARTHOLOMEW AND BASSETT 


14I 


“ About a mile from here, you say? ” 

The bar-tender leans upon the bar. 

“ Say, what do you fellers want of him? You’re 
askin’ a heap of questions.” His tone is a mixture 
of curiosity and caution. 

The lawyer rubs his fat hands together, and 
assumes an air of confidence. He lowers his voice. 

“ I don’t mind telling he says, confiden- 

tially. “ You are a smart fellow, and can keep a 
secret. The fact is, there is a little money coming 
to Alvarez from a relative who died not long ago, 
and I, being a lawyer, am in search of him.” 

“ Oh, yer a lawyer? Suppos’n Pete didn’t leave 
his stuff to any one, who gits the dust? ” 

“ It is more than likely that Alvarez did leave 
his goods and chattels to his partner, and it is pos- 
sible that he can lay claim to this money.” 

The fellow bursts into a hoarse laugh. 

“ Him! Dirty Antonio a millionaire! By 

G d! he’ll blow it all in. He won’t have a 

nickel in a month. ” 

I did not say there was that much money left 
Alvarez, nor that his partner was entitled to it. I 
merely thought it likely. If he spends his money, 
so much the better for you; so much more to your 
interest to help me. ” 

The wily lawyer sees he has adopted the right 
plan, for the fellow sobers down, and says: 

I’m willin’ to help you. I didn’t say I wasn’t. 
I only laughed at the idea. If Antonio gets the 
dust. I’ll get some of it, yer kin bet.” 


142 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Well, how can we find our way there? ** 

“ He'll show ye. He’s outside now. ” 

“ Ah; that’s good. Suppose you call him in, 
without telling him what we want him for. We 
can then have a talk with him, and go to his 
house.” 

“ I’ll do it.” 

He goes to the door, and speaks a few words to 
a filthy, greasy, bearded fellow outside. 

The fellow turns, and follows him in. 

Both Bartholomew and Bassett turn in repug- 
nance as they behold the filthy object before them; 
but they overcome the feeling, and Bartholomew 
even shakes hands with him, and invites him to 
drink. 

The Mexican, who has been properly named 
“ Dirty Antonio,” swallows a brimming glass of the 
foul mixture designated as “ good rye ” by the 
proprietor, and then says, brokenly: 

“ Yuia wanta mea. Whata you want? ” 

His voice is husky; his tone sullen. 

Bartholomew lowers his voice. 

“ We wish to talk to you on a matter of impor- 
tance. There may be money in it for you.” 

At the word money, the fellow’s eyes glisten 
with an unholy fire. 

“ Money! ” he gasps. “ Goa, speak! ” 

“ Not here,” whispers Bartholomew. It must 
be in private — at your home.” 

The fellow looks suspiciously upon the smiling 
stranger. 

Whena youa paya de money? ” he says. 


BARTHOLOMEW AND BASSETT 143 

" Don’t you be alarmed,” answers Bartholomew. 
““ You may be richer before many hour 5,^* 

“ You gota de money wid you? ” 

Perhaps; come! I have not much time. Will 
you hear what I have to say, or not? ” 

The fellow averts his evil eyes. 

“ Cornea,” he says. “ Youa follow me. I go 
ahead. Come.” 

He hurries from the place. 

“ Don’t trust that greaser too far,” says the dis- 
penser of liquid fire, as the two lawyers leave the 
place. “ He’s a bad man. He is mighty slick with 
a * bowie.’ ” 

Bartholomew smiled. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I am not afraid. 
Besides, I have a Smith & Wesson, ” and he opens 
the door. 

Bassett is not so complacent. He does not 
understand the rough characters of the frontier as 
well as his confrercy but he follows him without 
a word. 

The Mexican is slouching along the road as they 
mount their ponies. Throwing a gold-piece to the 
cowboy, and telling him to treat the crowd of 
loungers, Bartholomew chirrups to his broncho 
and starts after Antonio, Bassett, with difficulty, 
keeping pace with him. The Mexican is a rapid 
walker, and in ten minutes stops before a dirty 
cabin of mud and logs. He waits until the lawyers 
are before the door, and then, throwing it open, 
enters with the words: 

“ Cornea inside.” 


144 


MEXICAN BILL 


They dismount, secure their ponies, and enter 
the hut. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

DIRTY ANTONIO’S TREACHERY. 

AS THEY enter, Bartholomew slips his revolver 
from his hip pocket into the side pocket of his 
sack coat. He wants to have it handy in case of 
emergency. 

The interior is quite dark, coming in out of the 
bright sunlight, and it takes some little time for the 
eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Bassett 
stands blinking like an owl, behind the portly form 
of Bartholomew, who closes his eyes for a moment 
the better to accommodate them to the semi- 
darkness. 

“ Sita down,” they hear the Mexican say, and, 
being now able to take in the surrounding objects, 
they do so. 

The interior of dirty Antonio’s residence was 
not at all prepossessing, although it seemed befitting 
him who dwelled therein. Dirty, filthy, with no 
floor, and but little furniture, it looked more like 
a den than a dwelling-place of a human being. 

They see the Mexican squatting on the earth 
before them. 

“ You wanta to seea me; I ama waiting,” he 
mutters. 

Bartholomew hesitates a moment. He does not 
know the best way to begin. 


DIRTY ANTONIO^S TREACHERY 145 

“ Get through with this as soon as possible/’ 
whispered Bassett; “ this place is stifling.” 

“ You were Pietro Alvarez’s partner,” the lawyer 
begins. 

The Mexican starts. 

What of it,” he grunts. 

Were you his partner? ” 

“ Youa know it, I say, yes.” 

“ How long had you known him before his 
death? ” 

Some years; mebbe ten, mebbe twenty.” He 
speaks sullenly; the lawyer observes it. 

“See here, my man!” he cries; “you want 
money; I have some for you; but you must answer 
my questions to get it. You need not be afraid; I 
am not going to harm 'you. I know that Alvarez 
was a bandit, a robber; I should not wonder if you 
had been one yourself, but that has nothing to do 
with me. All I want to know is, how long have 
you known Alvarez, and whether he shared his 
secrets with you, as well as his dwelling-place.” 

The Mexican is staring steadily at him as he 
speaks. He is evidently impressed by his manner; 
but he is cunning. He speaks. 

“ You knowa he a bandit. Well, I say, I too a 
bandit wid him; I knewa him thirty, mebbe forty 
year; I no stop to think. I knowa some secret. 
Whata you want to know? ” 

The lawyer determined to speak boldly; this fel- 
low may know what Alvarez had to impart upon 
his death; so he says: 

Mexican Bill 10 


146 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ Do you know that Alvarez wrote a letter to 
England some few years ago? 

The Mexican starts; his eyes gleam. 

“Yes; la know.’' 

“ Do you know why he wrote that letter? 

“ la know. ” 

" Ah, you do? You know the papers had an 
advertisement for information of a man who had 
disappeared, and that Alvarez answered it? ” 

“ Yes; I knowait all.” 

“ Then you can obtain a large sum of money by 
telling what you know. ” 

“ Youa paya me some now, before I say? ” 

Bartholomew quickly takes his wallet from his 
pocket. 

It is well filled. 

The eyes of the Mexican glisten as he sees it. 

Bartholomew removes two notes for one hundred 
dollars each, and holds them up before the fellow’s 
eyes. 

“ I will give you these to start in,” he says. 
“ More will follow.” 

He replaces the wallet while he is speaking, the 
eyes of the ex-bandit following the movement. 

“ You givea me dat?” he mutters. 

“ Yes.” The Mexican thinks. 

“ De paper wanta to know about a man called 
Daggett? ” he says. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Daggett — hea dead.” 

“ Dead! How did he die?” 

“ Alvarez, hea killa him.” 


DIRTY ANTONIO’S TREACHERY 


147 


Ah, killed him for money, eh?” 

“ He killa him for money.” 

“ Mexican Bill was right,” murmurs Bassett. 

“ Yes,” replies Bartholomew, in an undertone. 
Then to the Mexican : “ How do you know this ? ” 
“ la seea him die. Him anoder man — a Pietro 
Daniel.” 

“ By Jehoshaphat, he must know,” cries Barthol- 
omew. “ How can you prove this ? ” 

“ la prove. Givea me de money. ” 

Bartholomew hands him the bills, and says : 
“ Now produce your proofs, and you shall have 
more.” 

“ I noa keepa de proofs here. Youa cornea to- 
night — cornea at ten. I showa you de proofs, an’ 
you givea me de money.” 

“ You will be sure to produce them at ten to- 
night,” Bassett asks, suspiciously. 

The Mexican shrugs his shoulders. ” You noa 
want dem, you noa come.” 

“ We will be here,” answers Bartholomew, “ at 
ten to-night,” and they leave the house. The 
Mexican watches them as they mount, and then 
turns, with an evil look in his eye, and re-enters 
the house. 

“ This fellow knows it all, depend upon it,” 
remarks Bartholomew, as they ride along, “ and, 
to-night we will have the proofs. I wish I had 
thought of this before ; it would have been 
unnecessary to have engaged the detective. I 
wonder how he is progressing, and what he has 
learned.” 


148 


MEXICAN BILL 


“Do you think you can trust this Mexican?” 
asks Bassett. “ He looks like a desperate scoundrel; 
one that would not hesitate at crime of any sort.” 

Bartholomew laughs, a merry laugh, that 
shakes his portly form. “ We need not fear him,” 
he cries. “ One good man is more than his equal 
in a test of strength; besides, I am armed.” 

They ride along in silence after this, and halt 
before an hotel, where they have supper, and wait 
until the hour of the appointment. 

At quarter of ten they mount their ponies to 
return to the Mexican’s cabin. The night is dark, 
lighted only by the stars. Bartholomew has his 
pistol handy, and they ride along in silence. 

The low hut soon looms up before them; and 
they dismount, and make ready to enter, when, 
suddenly, without warning, they are seized from 
behind, and are borne to the earth. 

So sudden has been the attack that Bartholo- 
mew has not had an opportunity to draw his re- 
volver. He struggles desperately, but his assailant 
has him by the throat, and is strangling him. 

Bassett is in the same condition, and it appears 
as if it were all up for the two lawyers. 

Suddenly upon the night air comes the sound of 
horses’ hoofs, and the next moment the report of a 
rifle rings out. 

The scoundrels, with a muttered curse, relax 
their grasp upon the throats of their intended vic- 
tim, and hurry away in the darkness. 

“Hello! What’s the trouble?” a cheery voice 
sounds; and the lawyers, looking up, see a young 


DIRTY ANTONIO’S TREACHERY 149 

man clad in cowboy costume, mounted upon a 
wiry little broncho, standing but a few feet from 
them. 

Bassett arises to his feet, and brushes the dust 
and dirt from his clothing, while his companion 
mutters: 

“ Terrible enough. If you had not come upon 
the scene just when you did, the world would have 
been the poorer by the loss of two lawyers; eh, 
Bassett ? ” 

The cowboy laughs. 

“ Perhaps the world would not look at it in that 
light,” he says. 

“ Perhaps not,” mutters Bartholomew, arranging 
his clothing. 

“ Two lawyers,” remarks the cowboy. “ Did I 
understand you to say that one of your names is 
Bassett? ” 

“ I did not saj/ so,” answers the portly gentle- 
man. “ I merely addressed my companion.” 

“ Is his name Bassett? ” 

Yes, sir; Isaac Bassett, at your service; and I 
wish to tender you my sincere thanks for your 
timely assistance.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” remarks the man; “ for I 
think I am in luck in finding you. I am looking 
for a lawyer from England by the name of Isaac 
Bassett, and, I take it, you are the man. ” 

The little lawyer approaches him. 

“ Looking for me? ” he cries. “ What do you 
want of me. ” 

“ Gentleman by the name of Daggett — Arthur 


150 


MEXICAN BILL 


Daggett — sent me. I have been to Santa Fe, and 
was on my way to Las Vegas, when I came upon 
you.” 

Both legal gentlemen give utterances to exclama- 
tions of astonishment. 

“ Arthur Daggett in America! ” cries Bassett. “ I 
cannot believe it.” 

“ Decidedly mysterious,” remarks Bartholomew. 

“Well, we ain’t got much time to fool away,” 
cries the cowboy. “ Here, read this, and then come 
with me.” 

He hands a folded paper to Bassett, who strikes 
a match and reads it. There are but a few words; 
but they arouse the little lawyer at once: 

“ Bassett — Accompany this man at once. He 
will lead you to me. I am in grievous trouble. 

Arthur Daggett.” 

“ I will go with you,” he says, “ but must first 
return these ponies to their owner, and secure 
others.” 

They mount hurriedly, and ride into Las Vegas. 
The proprietor of the hotel where they have eaten 
supper agrees to return the ponies to the Phoenix 
Hotel, at the Hot Springs, and also has some 
bronchos which he will sell. They conclude the 
bargain, and, without rest, follow the cowboy. 

All night they travel. At daybreak they halt 
for refreshment, and then continue their journey. 

At noon they rest for a few hours. Their ponies 
are distressed, and there is yet some distance to 
go. About four they resume the tedious, tiring 


DIRTY ANTONIO'S TREACHERY 151 

ride, and the sun is setting as they come in sight 
of the timber motte^ where Arthur Daggett is 
encamped. Suddenly, sweeping across the prairie, 
they see a body of mounted men. The cowboy, 
shading his eyes with one hand, utters a cry: 

“ What is it? ” asks 'Bartholomew. 

“ Valdoso’s gang, for a hundred,” the man 
answers. “ And they are heading for the camp. 
They will be there in an hour. Put spurs to your 
horse and follow me. We must be there first. ” 
With a feeling of sickening horror, the English 
lawyer sees the ruthless riders swooping down upon 
the timber, and, urging on his pony, he follows 
the cowboy and Bartholomew, who are already 
some distance in advance. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

SAVED FROM DEATH. 

With a dazed feeling, a sensation as of having 
been beaten all over, so sore is his entire body, 
Mexican Bill recovers consciousness, recovers, 
and with difficulty raises himself upon his elbow, 
and looks about him. At first he does not under- 
stand why he is here, or how he came; then mem- 
ory assumes her dominion, and it all comes to him; 
the battle on the tower, his desperate struggle 
with Valdoso. He can see by the faint light which 
is breaking (for day is dawning) that he is lying at 
the bottom of a narrow ravine, merely a wedge- 
shaped cleft in the rocks. As he lies he can trace 


152 


MEXICAN BILL 


the walls on either side, and, looking up at the 
patch of gray sky above him, he begins wondering 
how he can ever escape. Then he begins to con- 
jecture why he was not instantly killed. The fall 
is a terrific one, at least one hundred and fifty feet, 
and the bottom of the ravine is of solid rock. 

He struggles to his feet, finding that he can do 
so without much trouble; for, with the exception 
of the sore, stiff feelings, he is uninjured. Then he 
starts back in horror and amazement; he under- 
stands why he has not been crushed; for, in rising, 
he sees the mangled form of Juan Valdoso, the 
bandit king, immediately beneath him. He has 
been lying upon it. The bandit has struck the 
ground first, and he has fallen upon him, thus break- 
ing his fall, and saving his life. With trembling 
lips he offers a prayer to Heaven. His life has 
been miraculously saved; he examines the body 
of Valdoso; he is quite dead. He drops the pulse- 
less wrist, and then looks for the tin box which he 
remembers has fallen with them. He finds it lying 
near by, uninjured save for a few scratches. 

It is now quite light. He must devise some plan 
of release from this place. He looks up the steep 
walls; he sees that there are a number of stout shrubs 
and small bushes growing along the sides, also 
some trailing vines. But he hesitates before 
attempting to make use of them; not but what he 
believes them strong enough to bear him, but 
rather that he fears he will not be strong enough to 
clamber to the top, so far up. 

But something must be done. He cannot remain 


SAVED FROM DEATH 


153 


here with the ghastly corpse of the bandit. He 
must not give up. So, with determination, he 
braces his feet against one wall, and pulls himself 
up a short distance by a vine which grows to the 
rock on the other. He has fastened the box to 
his belt, and, thankful ^that its contents are in his 
possession, works away. 

And it is work. He is obliged to go slowly, 
carefully testing the strength of the vines and 
bushes before intrusting his weight to them. But 
he is making good headway. In two hours he is 
near the top, and stops to rest, bracing himself 
against the side of the walls. In an hour he begins 
the tedious toiling again. He is within three feet 
of the top, stretches out one hand to grasp a pro- 
jecting ledge of rock, when, to his horror, he feels 
the bush, at whose roots his feet are pressing, 
gradually give way. He utters an involuntary cry; 
he believes he must perish; but at that moment a 
warm hand grasps his own (the one clutching the 
ledge), a voice cries: " Spring forward, and grasp 
the top.” He does so, and is held by the wrist by 
some one above, some one who holds him securely 
by the wrist. He makes desperate efforts to reach 
the top, and finally does so, is pulled over the edge, 
and falls exhausted upon the level ground at the 
top of the tower. For fully five minutes he lies 
with his eyes closed, panting for breath; then he 
opens them, and looks about him — looks for his 
preserver. 

He sees a figure clad in black velvet. The figure 
of a man apparently; but, as the object of his 


154 


MEXICAN BILL 


scrutiny turns, he recognizes the sad, beautiful face 
of Pepita, Valdoso’s wife. 

“ You here! ” he gasps. 

“ Do not disturb yourself,” she murmurs, coming 
toward him. “ You will need all your strength.” 

“ You have saved my life,” he utters, in amaze- 
ment. 

“ I came to save you,” she replies. 

“ How did you know I was here? ” 

He is amazed that this woman should possess 
the strength she had shown in raising him over 
the edge of the precipice. He is astonished that 
she should be here and clothed in male costume, 
here to save him. 

“ You are my guardian angel,” he murmurs, 
thankfully. 

” It is but right I should be,” she answers, signifi- 
cantly. He hears her words, but attaches no 
significance to them. ” How did you know I was 
here? ” he repeats. 

“ The men upon their return told me that both 
you and Juan had gone over the precipice, that you 
were both killed.” 

” I thought perhaps one of you might escape. I 
knew both of you could not. I came to see if such 
was the case.” 

“ You came in time. In five minutes I would 
have fallen.” 

“ I saw your hand clutching the ledge of rocks. 
I seized it, and pulled you out.” 

He rises, and takes her hand, pressing it to his 
lips. He feels her tremble. 


SAVED FROM DEATH 


155 


“ And Juan,” she falters. 

“He is a mangled corpse, at the bottom of the 
ravine,” he answers. She shudders, then weeps. 

“ God forgive him,” she sobs, “ I loved him, in 
spite of all. Perhaps it is best that he is gone.” 

“There is no doubt of it,” replies Bill, firmly. 
“ Best for you, best for the community at large.” 

She makes no reply, only sobs gently, mourning 
the wretch she has loved. Suddenly she raises her 
head. 

“ And the girl,” she cries, “ Where is she? ” 

“ In the power of her villainous cousin,” the de- 
tective answers. 

“ We must be after them! ” exclaims the woman, 
rising to her feet. “ He must not escape. ” 

The detective sighs. 

“ I could have prevented him ever leaving this 
place alive,” he murmurs: “ but I spared him; he 
is my cousin; I could not shoot him down in cold 
blood.” 

“ And that is why you spared him? ” she asks. 

“ Yes,” dejectedly. 

“ And you will allow him to pursue his path of 
villainy, without seeking to check him.” 

“ No; I shall start in pursuit of him as soon as I 
am sufficiently recovered ; I shall wrest that fair girl 
from him, and bid him go.” 

“ He would not thus spare you.” 

“ Perhaps not; but think' I All these years I have 
never known one of kindred ; I cannot willfully kill 
one, even though that one should be a villain, a 
conscienceless scoundrel.” 


156 


MEXICAN BILL 


An expression of great emotion crosses the wom- 
an’s features; her lips move; she nearly speaks, 
but checks herself. 

“ So be it,” she murmurs at last, and turns away. 

He is soon himself once more; and, going to her, 
tells her so. 

“ Then, we will go,” she says. 

“ We have much to do. I will accompany you, 
first to the camp of Arthur Daggett, to try and 
save him from the hands of Valdoso’s fiends. They 
will obey me, and we may be in time. They will 
not ride fast during the heat of the day, and, by 
pressing forward, we may be able to reach there 
before them. Then we will search for the girl. 
We may not be obliged to do so, for the young 
man may head for the camp. I hope it may be so. 
Come. ” 

She has assumed the command, and, without 
comment, he obeys. They mount, and ride in the 
direction of the rising sun. She has brought 
ponies with her, thred of them, and she leads the 
other, holding the rein with one hand, guiding her 
own with the other. She rides like a man, and the 
detective admires the graceful carriage of this brave 
woman as she rides by his side. 

They do not spare the little beasts, and toward 
nightfall they behold a band of mounted men some 
miles before them. 

“ They are before us,” she murmurs. “ We must 
hasten, or we will be too late.” 

The detective knows what this means — death to 
the little party encamped in the timber. They 


saved from death 


w 

stand little or no chance of escape from the blood- 
thirsty wretches who are surging toward them. 
They put spurs to their ponies, these two — the 
beautiful woman and the gallant cowboy — and, 
despite the fact that the little beasts have been 
traveling hard all day, they answer to the vigorous 
impulse, and dash forward over the plain. With 
eager, trained eyes these two see the body of 
bandits gradually growing nearer the timber. They 
will be too late, no matter how hard they try, and 
a groan bursts from the lips of the detective as he 
realizes the fact. But they will keep on, never 
relaxing the terrific speed of their ponies. Sud- 
denly the animal Pepita is riding stumbles and falls. 
As quick as thought she is upon the back of the 
spare pony,, and is after Bill, who has forged ahead, 
and is reining in his pony to return to her assist- 
ance. 

“ Good,” he shouts ; “ you are a remarkable 
woman. I doubt if I could have done that 
myself.” 

She makes no reply, only blushes, and they leave 
the faithful little beast which has fallen to die upon 
the prairie, while they hurry on to save the precious 
lives of Arthur Daggett and his little party. 

The bandits have reached the timber. Night 
has fallen upon the plain. They hear the sound 
of rifle and revolver, carried to them on the gentle 
breezes. 

” Too late, too late! ” groans Mexican Bill. 

“God help them!” murmurs the woman; and 


58 


MEXICAN BILL 


the anguish in her gentle voice strikes upon the 
detective’s heart. 

Hark! What is that? 

The sound of many horses sweeping over the prai- 
rie. 'A series of ringing cheers. Not of Valdoso’s 
band, but of another braver, nobler body. His 
‘ own bold men. 

They are coming toward them. They will soon 
be there. 

With a loud cry, the detective spurs on his pony 
to meet them; but the animal is exhausted, and, 
with a gasp, staggers and falls, carrying the cowboy 
with him. A cry of pain, the feeling of a heavy 
weight crushing him down, and Mexican Bill 
becomes unconscious. His pony has fallen upon 
him. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE REPULSE OF THE BANDITS. 

“ On to the camp ! ” shouts the cowboy, who is 
directing Bartholomew and Bassett to these gentle- 
men. “ As our visit will be made to a gang of cut- 
throats and a pile of dead bodies, they must not 
surprise the boys.” 

The race is a friendly contested one; but the trio 
are in time. They dash into the timber, the guide 
giving vent to a yell that brings a score of his fel- 
lows to his side. 

“ Valdoso’s gang,” he shouts, “on the prairie. 
Be here in five minutes. ” 


the repulse of the bandits 159 

“ Valdoso. ” The hated name bursts from the lips 
of these brave fellows, in an ominous murmur, 
a murmur like the angry roar of the surf upon the 
shore. Then they hurry to their arms, and see to 
their ponies, while the lawyers are conducted to 
the wagon, where Arthur Daggett is reclining. 

The cowboys are ready. 

The messenger sent in advance by Valdoso has 
not made his appearance from some cause, and the 
cowboys are in camp. 

“ Mr. Daggett,” cries the young fellow who has 
conducted the lawyers to the camp. A noise is 
heard inside the wagon, and the face of Arthur 
Daggett, looking older and more worn than what 
we last saw him, appears at the opening. 

“ What is it,” he demands, then sees the lawyer. 
“ Bassett,” he cries, reaching out his hand. 

“ I came as soon as your message reached me,” 
says Bassett. “ But for what in the name of com- 
mon sense are you doing here? ” he continues, in 
amazement. The stricken old man passes his hand 
to his brow. 

“ It is a long story,” he says. “ Oh, Bassett! I 
have been sorely afflicted. Millicent, my darling 
child” — and he sobs. “What of her? Is with 
you? ” the lawyer asks eagerly, wonderingly. 

“ She was, Bassett. But, oh God! she is in the 
power of a fiend in human form — Valdoso the 
bandit.” 

“ Crack! whizz! bang! ” the fire-arms sound out. 

Bartholomew jumps behind the wagon. 

Arthur Daggett’s pale face grows whiter. 


MEXICAN BILL 


i6o 

They are returning to pay you another visit/* 
cries Bassett. 

“ Who? Valdoso?” and the old gentleman shud- 
ders. 

“ Yes; Valdoso. Lie low in the body of the 
wagon.” 

Bartholomew gives this last piece of advice, and 
sets the example by springing into the vehicle, and 
pulls Daggett from the opening. Bassett follows. 
The sight of the furious battle which is now raging, 
appalls him. He is not accustomed to scenes of 
bloodshed. 

Arthur Daggett is trembling in every muscle. 

“ Oh, if my child is only safe! ” he cries. 

Bassett, his mind occupied with feelings of 
curiosity and fear, makes no reply. Bartholomew 
is lying perfectly quiet, his keen eye watching the 
entrance, his hand clutching his Smith and Wesson. 

The yells of the discomfited bandits, who have 
reckoned upon an easy victory, are appalling, and 
the cheery shouts of the brave cowboys, rising 
clear above them, together with the reports of the 
rifles and revolvers, serve to make up a scene of 
pandemonium seldom witnessed. 

Zip! A bullet whistles through the canvas top, 
and the three men crouch lower. 

Thud! Another strikes the body of the wagon, 
but does not come through. It is heavily built. 

By Jehoshaphat! They’re hard at it,” mutters 
Bartholomew. 

Now the cries of the cowboys sound triumphant, 
and the noise of conflict grows fainter. The sound 


The Battle between Cowboys and Bandits. 






THE REPULSE OF THE BANDITS l6l 

of horses^ feet, disappearing in the distance, informs 
the men in the wagon that the bandits have been 
driven off, and they emerge from their place of 
security. 

Both Daggett and the English lawyer draw back 
in horror as, in the light of the camp fire, they see 
the fearful sight before them — men, horses, bleed- 
ing, dying, dead, around them. Bartholomew 
looks at the ravages of war without comment; he 
steps over the dead bodies unceremoniously. 

This is a horrible country,” murmurs Daggett. 
“ My God! can men be such fiends? ” 

Old Buckskin Ben approaches him, wiping his 
bowie-knife upon his sleeve. 

“ We hev druv ’em off,” he cries, with a grim 
smile; “ leastways, some on ’em. Some on ’em are 
left to feed the vultures.” 

“ And Mexican Bill’s band, where are they?” asks 
Daggett, anxiously. 

“ Gone to chase ’em out of sight; kill the rest if 
posserble.^^ 

“ I hope they will not leave us unprotected any 
longer than they can help. ” The old man is fearful. 

" Don’t you feel skeered, boss,” old Ben assures 
him. “ Thar ain’t none of ’em left to hurt ye. 
The boys’ll be back soon.” And calmly he turns 
to the teamsters and gives orders to complete the 
arrangements for supper, which have been inter- 
rupted by the advent of the bandits. 

Bassett feels easy in his mind now, and intro- 
duces Bartholomew to Arthur Daggett. 


Mexican Bill ii 


i 62 


MEXICAN BILL 


I heard you speak of Mexican Bill’s band,” 
says the portly lawyer, the introduction being over. 
“ Are they here? ” 

“ Yes; ” and briefly the old gentleman relates the 
timely arrival of the brave cowboy detective and 
his men. 

They have reached the fire, and, sitting beside it, 
Bassett again broaches the subject, as to the pres- 
ence of the Englishman and his daughter in 
America. Hurriedly Arthur Daggett relates the 
circumstances, and the lawyers listen eagerly. 

“ And Mordaunt, where is he? ” asks Bartholo- 
mew, after he has finished. 

“He left me the night after Mexican Bill had gone 
to rescue Millicent. He said he was not easy in 
his mind, and could not rest until she was found; 
so left me, to search for her.” 

“ Hum,” mutters Bartholomew. 

Bassett remains silent. He is thinking. It all 
seems strange to him. Singular that Mordaunt 
should insist upon coming to the country, and 
without informing him of the fact. 

“ Do you remember what Mexican Bill said, the 
first time you saw him?” asks Bartholomew, sud- 
denly. 

“ What? what have you reference to? ’’asks Bas- 
sett, arousing himself. 

“ The fact that Mordaunt Daggett would be the 
sole heir in case of the death of the remaining 
ones.” 

“ What has that to do with what we have 
heard? ” and the English lawyer looks warningly 


THE REPULSE OF THE BANDITS 163 

at his confrere y as he sees Arthur Daggett look- 
ing with surprise upon him. 

“ Perhaps nothing; only I was thinking of it. 
Putting this and that together, as my friend Bill 
does, it came to me, as I heard Mr. Daggett 
speaking.” 

The old gentleman arose to his feet, his pale 
face horrified, his eyes shifting uneasily. 

“ You don’t think my nephew guilty of plotting 
for my death! ” he cries. 

Bartholomew feels discomfited. He has not 
intended to hurt the old man’s feelings. 

“ I did not say that,” he answers, in a low tone ; 
“ I should not like to accuse the young fellow.” 

** He is the soul of honor,” cries the uncle. 
“ His distress, when Millicent was found missing, 
was heart-rending. He cotdd not be guilty of plot- 
ting for my death.” 

“ I hope not; still, the temptation is great,” he 
speaks boldly. The old man sits upon a stump 
near by, and, turning his back to the lawyers, allows 
his gray head to fall forward in his hands. They 
can see he is weeping. 

“My God!” they hear him murmur; “if this 
should be true, I would pray Heaven to remove me 
from earth. ” 

They walk away from the grief-stricken man. 
A sudden crash in the undergrowth around the 
camp, causes them to stop. Some one is breaking 
through. Who? 

They wait; the next instant a man with torn 
clothing, hatless, with a wild, haggard face, forces 


i64 


MEXICAN BILL 


his way through the low brush, and stands before 
them. 

With a gasp, Bassett clutches the arm of his 
companion. 

“ Mordaunt Daggett,” he cries. The newcomer 
starts, and then springs toward them. 

“ Bassett! ” he mutters, hoarsely; “ what are you 
doing here? ” 

“ Your uncle.sent for me; I have come to him.” 

“ My uncle? Yes. Oh, I see. He found out 
where you were. ” 

He speaks wildly, and the next moment turns 
from them and hurries to the fire — they follow 
him; they see Arthur Daggett rise as he hears 
some one approach him; they see him turn and 
look upon his nephew; they hear Mordaunt Dag- 
gett stagger and cry aloud, “ My God! You liv- 
ing? ” and crouch from him as though struck a 
blow. 

“ Yes, Mordaunt, I am living. Did you hope 
to find me dead? ” The words came slowly, 
reproachfully. The young man straightens up. 

“No, no! ” he cries, nervously. “ I feared it; 
I — feared you might not be able to defend your- 
self against the — a — bandits. I thought ” 

“ How did you know the camp was to be 
attacked by bandits? ” the old man speaks sternly. 

The young villain grows livid, his eyes shifting. 

“ I — have been to their stronghold; I — was — 
captured; I heard their plot — their plan to attack 
you; see — my clothing torn — nearly dead, I — 


THE REPULSE OF THE BANDITS 165 

escaped them; I hurried here to give you warn- 
ing. 

The lawyers hear every word. So interested 
are they that they do not hear the sound of the 
returning cowboys. 

“ Is this the truth? ” demands Arthur Daggett. 

“ Truth? Why, yes. Why should I lie? 
Why ” 

“ Except to benefit yourself,” answers the old 
man. 

The nephew lowers his head. “ Benefit myself ! ” 
and he attempts to laugh; a laugh pitiful in its 
wavering tones. “No. I have been seeking to find 
Millicent; Millicent, whom I love. I have braved 
death to bring her to you.” 

At the name of his loved one the old man groans, 
his aged face raised to the sky. “ My daughter! ” 
His lips form the words. Then, eagerly, anx- 
iously: “ You have found her? You have brought 
her to me? ” 

The scoundrel hesitates ; hesitates because he 
is about to strike a cowardly blow. 

“ No,” he mutters. “She is dead.” 

“ Dead ! Oh, Father in Heaven.” 

The portly lawyer springs forward in time to 
save the stricken man from falling headlong into the 
fire, for he has lost consciousness. 

Bassett seizes Mordaunt by the wrist, and turns 
him suddenly around, so he can look in his face. 
“ Is this true,” he demands, sternly. 

“ Of course it’s true. I say Millicent Daggett is 
dead.” 


i66 


MEXICAN BILL 


And I say you lie,” rings out a clear voice 
behind them. 

Turning, they start in amazement — the lawyer, 
with a cry of joy; the young villain, with one of 
fear. 

“ Mexican Bill ? ” he gasps. 

“ Yes, Mexican Bill, who says you lie. Millicent 
Daggett is dead — you know where she is — 
I demand her of you. Where is Millicent Daggett? ” 

The dark eyes of the handsome detective glower 
and burn as they strive to pierce the soul of the 
cowering wretch before him. Mordaunt Daggett 
averts his face. He cannot look into their burning 
depths. 

“ Speak! I am waiting.” 

With a sullen murmur, the villain answers: 

“You say she is not dead; you should know 
where she is. Find her.” 

With a cry of rage, the cowboy springs" upon 
him. With one hand he seizes him by the collar, 
and hisses into his ear: 

“You despicable scoundrel! you white-livered 
dog! you are not fit to live. Yet, I cannot kill 
you; you know why. I am going to seek her; I 
shall do as you have said. I shall fi^id her. I 
shall bring her to you face to face, and she shall 
condemn you.” 

He turns to his men. 

“ Guard well this man. Bind him; watch' him; 
keep him until I return. You, Ned, come with 
me; I may need your assistance.” 


MILLICENT’S PERIL 167 

A white, beautiful face looks into his. The face 
of a woman — Pepita. 

“ But you are suffering pain,” she cries. ” Your 
arm is broken. You had better wait.” 

“ I feel no pain, save that of a heavy heart. 
Time is precious; I cannot wait. Here, Ben! 
bind up my arm; you can doctor me up upon my 
return.” 

The cowboys lead away the trembling villain, 
and Buckskin Ben bandages the helpless arm of 
the detective. He is skillful, this old scout, and 
arranges the bandages rapidly and securely. 

Then, with a face set and determined, with a 
heart eager and wistful, Mexican Bill mounts a 
fresh pony, and rides out upon the prairie? 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MILLICENT’S PERIL. 

On through the night Mordaunt Daggett pur- 
sues his way through the scattering forest. The 
beautiful girl is still unconscious, although the rough 
movement of the pony is enough to arouse her, but 
the shock has been a great one, and, being weak 
and terrified from the events of the past three days, 
nature succumbs entirely to this last blow. 

The young villain, leading her pony, casts a 
glance at her still white face ever and anon, occa- 
sionally pressing his finger to her wrist to assure 
himself that the feeble pulse is still beating, that 
life still exists in the unconscious one. 


i68 


MEXICAN BILL 


At daybreak he halts. He has no food for either 
himself and captives or the ponies; but game is 
plentiful; he has hopes of being able to bring down 
a squirrel or rabbit with his revolver. He knows 
the ponies can subsist on the luxuriant grass. He 
draws rein beneath a clump of trees which border 
a running stream, and relieves the pony of his beau- 
tiful burden. Then attaching the long lariats 
which are dangling from the saddles to the necks 
of the ponies, securing the other end to one of the 
trees, he leaves the girl and sets out to procure food, 
if possible. The sun is shining brightly when, with 
a deep sigh, Millicent recovers consciousness. She 
sits up, and looks about her in bewilderment; she is 
alone, no one in sight, no living creature, save 
the ponies, which are grazing at the end of their 
lariats; she rises to her feet. 

“ Am I alone? ” she murmurs. She sees the two 
ponies; she remembers, with a sharp pang, the 
events of the previous night. As there are two 
ponies, there must be two riders. She is one; her 
despicable cousin must be the other; but where can 
he be? She suddenly realizes that her mouth and 
throat are dry and parched; she is suffering terribly 
with thirst. To her ears comes the musical mur- 
muring of the stream near by, and she hurries to it, 
and, using her white hands as a mode of conveying 
the cool, refreshing liquid to her mouth, drinks her 
fill; she turns to return to the spot under the trees, 
when she sees Mordaunt coming toward her, his 
face dark and gloomy. 

She shrinks from him as he draws nearer. 


millicent's peril 169 

“ So youVe come around,’* he mutters, as he sees 
her. “ I thought you were dead for a while. ” 

“ It would, perhaps, be better for me if I were,” 
she murmurs. 

” Nonsense; although the chances are we will 
both be dead unless I can find something to sustain 
life. I have not a mouthful of food, and we may 
starve.” 

His voice is harsh, his manner forbidding. She 
can scarcely bring herself to believe that this man 
is her cousin — the easy, gentlemanly, debonnair 
man of the world she has known in the past. 

“ You are taking me to my father,” she says. 
“ We can exist without food until we reach the 
camp.” 

She forces herself to speak calmly, to speak as 
though she believed him to be conducting her to 
her parent. She does not remember his cruel 
words in the cave the previous night. He brutally 
recalls them. 

“ I have told you yOur father is dead,” he mut- 
ters. 

She remembers it all now, and her heart sinks. 
Her father dead ! What fate is in store for her? 

“ Dead,” she murmurs. " How do you know 
this ? ” 

He sits upon the ground ; she has already done 
so. She is weary. She feels as if her limbs could 
not support her. 

“ I suppose this is as good a time as any to come 
to an understanding with you,” he says, sullenly. 

“ You have got to know it some time; I may as 


170 


MEXICAN BILL 


well begin now. You ask me how I know your 
father is dead; I will tell you. Juan Valdoso knew 
that a sum equivalent to fifty thousand dollars was 
in the camp. He. got it from me. I told him it 
was to be his reward for certain services rendered. 
The arrival of Mexican Bill prevented him from 
getting it into his hands, and so last night a party 
of men were sent to the camp to kill every one in 
it, your father in particular, and secure the 
money.” 

She shudders as she hears him coolly speaking of 
this horrible crime. 

“ Then, he was not dead when you told me so 
last night? ” 

“ No. But I knew the men had been sent to do 
the work, and I told you so. ” 

“ He may not be dead even yet?” 

“ The bandits will not arrive until night. He 
dies to-night.” 

“ Then, you have lied twice. You knew this 
crime was to be perpetrated, and you lied to me, 
so that I must look upon you as a protector. You 
arranged this murder. ” She looks him in the eyes. 
He does not flinch. 

“ Yes,” he says, calmly, “ I managed it.” 

The words came so slowly, so without feeling, 
that she shudders. Then, with a burst of tears, she 
throws herself at his feet, 

“ There may^yet be time to save him,” she cries. 
“ By forcing on the horses, we may be able to save 
my father’s life. Come, you will do it. Think, he 
has been kind to you, a father when your own had 


millicent’s peril 


I7I 

passed away; he has reared you to manhood, loved 
you as his own. Come, save him. You cannot 
wish for his death; you will not suffer his gray 
hairs to be stained with his life blood. You will 
come.” 

He looks upon her with cold, indifferent eyes. 
He has no heart, this calculating scoundrel. 

“ It would be useless,” he replies. “ We would 
never reach the camp in time. ” 

She rises. 

“ Say rather you will not she cries, flashing 
her tearful eyes upon him. 

“ But hear me, Mordaunt Daggett; God will not 
permit my father to perish. In some way He will 
protect him and thwart you. Your villainy shall be 
made known to the world. I myself will testify 
against you; for you will be hunted down; you 
cannot escape. That brave detective who has 
faced death to rescue me will ferret you out, and 
you will be led a trembling, pitiful wretch to the 
bar of justice.” 

She speaks passionately, hurling her scathing 
words at him with fierce scorn. 

He only smiles. 

“ Your brave detective is lying a crushed, bleed- 
ing mass at the bottom of the ravine,” he says. 

“ I do not fear him; and, as for your threats — 
Bah! Listen. I will unfold to you my plans 
regarding you.” 

She staggers, and grasps at a small bush to sup- 
port her. Mexican Bill dead! Then, all is lost. 
She hears him speaking. 


1/2 


MEXICAN BILL 


“ I would not be such a fool as to take you 
where you could denounce me. I know you would 
not hesitate to do so. I shall go from here to a 
safe hiding-place, which I accidentally discovered 
while on my way to Valdoso’s caves. I will leave 
you there, while I go to assure myself that your 
father is really dead. Then I shall return to you. 
We shall cross the border into Mexico; I will make 
you my wife, and place you in charge of some one 
I can trust. I shall then return to Europe. Being 
the only heir to the estate of Algernon Daggett, I 
shall claim the money, and live in splendor the 
balance of my days. For, remember, I shall take 
with me proofs of my marriage to you in the form 
of a certificate, and also of your death. You shall 
not want. I will send you money regularly; but I 
will not live with you, and I will take devilish good 
care that you do not communicate with any one. 
Can you understand? ” 

Understand! Only too well. 

She sees through it all now. He has plotted for 
her fathers death, to force her to become his wife, 
in order to possess himself of this fortune. Her 
heart nearly ceases to beat. She feels as if she 
would choke from the terrible feeling in her soul. 
Marry him! Left to die, surrounded by merciless 
demons! She shrieks aloud in her terror. 

“ No, no! ” she cries. “ Do not do this. Do not 
carry out this devilish scheme. You cannot be 
entirely heartless. You once said you loved me.” 

He seizes her wrists. His hot breath burns her 
cheek as he hisses in her ear: 


millicent's peril 


m 


“Yes. I said I loved you. You do well to 
speak of that. I did love you then; but you cast 
me off, turned from me with scorn. That love died. 
I hate you now. I shall carry out my scheme to 
the very letter. I shall leave you to die; and per- 
chance, to make assurance doubly sure, I may kill 
you! Do you hear me? I may kill you! ” 

She shrinks from him. She trembles like a deli- 
cate flower exposed to the rough, cruel blasts of 
winter. 

“ God help me,’^ she murmurs, her brain reeling, 
her reason tottering on its throne. 

“Come! we must be going!” he commands, 
gruffly. 

Mechanically she rises to her feet. Scarcely 
knowing what she is doing, she allows him to assist 
her upon the pony, and follows him out into the 
blazing sun. 

No use of trying to escape. She is indeed help- 
less. They will ride in silence until past noon. 
She has not looked about her during the ride, 
keeping her eyes fixed upon the pony’s neck. As 
they halt, she raises them and sees they are beside 
a towering wall of rock, a solitary moss-covered 
mass cropping up out of the very prairie. She 
looks about her. There is no sign of any other 
rocky substance anywhere visible; no forest, 
nothing but the boundless prairie, broken only by 
this peculiar freak of nature. 

He orders her to dismount. Mechanically she 
obeys him. Then, roughly forcing her hands 


174 


MEXICAN BILL 


behind her, he binds them together with a handker- 
chief. 

“ Brute! ” she cries, flushing at the indignity. 

“ Perhaps,” he says, “ I am going to make sure 
that you do not escape me.” 

He leads her to what appears as a crevice in the 
rock. As they draw near, she perceives that it is 
sufficiently wide to admit of a person entering. He 
pushes her toward this, and, bound as she is, she 
cannot refuse. She enters, and finds that she is in 
a small, narrow passage. He forces her along this 
to a cave at the further end, and then, tying her 
ankles, using brutal force, he prepares to leave 
her. 

“ I shall be gone for about twelve hours,” he 
says. “ I regret that I cannot leave you some food ; 
but you know I have none. I suppose your posi- 
tion is an uncomfortable one ; but I cannot better it 
at present. Do not distress yourself by crying out ; 
no one will hear you, and, besides, there may be 
wild beasts near here, which would be attracted by 
your cries.” 

Wild beasts I Her eyes dilate, her breath comes 
short. 

“ They might kill me,” she cries, “ tear me in 
pieces.” 

“ So much the better,” he calmly answers ; “ then, 
the only obstacle in my path will be removed, and 
I shall be spared the trouble of marrying you.” 

With a sickening feeling of horror, she turns aside 
her head and closes her eyes. When she reopens 
them, she is alone — alone in the semi-darkness of 


millicent’s peril 


J75 


the gloomy cave ; helpless, bound hand and foot, 
suffering from the pangs of hunger and thirst, 
exposed to the savage fury of wild beasts. 

“ God save me,” she cries, in terror. 

The hours speed on — long, terrible hours to this 
poor, helpless one. Night falls ; the interior of the 
cave is as black as the jaws of death. She is suf- 
fering acutely now, from the fact of her bonds 
impeding the free circulation of blood. Her 
tongue is dry and parched, her head is swimming 
from weakness. Still, Mordaunt does not return. 
She gradually dozes off into a troubled slumber, 
awaking now and then with a sudden start, then 
closing her eyes again with a shudder. She tries 
to sleep ; she forgets it all while unconscious. 

Day dawns once more; the faint light penetrates 
to the cavern. “ He must sure be here,” she mur- 
murs. 

Suddenly her ears catch the sound of life. Some 
07ie is entering the cave! some one with sham- 
bling footsteps, that disturb the loose pebbles in 
the passage, and send them bounding into the cav- 
ern; one of them strikes her on the face. 

With eyes dilated with terror, she watches the 
entrance. She sees two fiery eyes glaring in upon 
her; sees a monstrous, fur-coated creature forcing 
its way in. 

Her screams ring out; she shrieks in her fear. 
The sound of her voice seems to enrage the 
creature, for it growls, and shambles toward her. 

“Father in Heaven! save me,” she cries, and 


176 


MEXICAN BILL 


faints away, feeling the hot breath of the beast 
upon her cheeks. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A STARTLING REVELATION. 

With a deep-drawn sigh, a gasp for breath, a 
convulsive upheaval of the bosom, Millicent Dag- 
gett recovers consciousness. The white eyelids 
softly raise, and she sees the tender, anxious look 
in the dark eyes fixed upon her face; feels the 
strong arm that holds her tightly, as if to shield 
her from harm — the eyes, the arm, of Mexican 
Bill. 

“ Thank God, you are safe,” he murmurs, as he 
sees she is herself again. 

” You saved me? ” she asks, in a low, feeble 
tone. 

“ Yes. I came just in time. See.” 

He points to the huge carcass of a monstrous 
grizzly that lies near him. 

“ In another minute you would have been torn 
in ribbons.” 

She shudders as she realizes how near death she 
has been. 

“ How came you here? ” she asks. 

He tells her all. She hears him through. 

“ Then, my father is safe — is living? ” 

“Yes; thank God.” 

She falls upon her knees (the detective has 
unbound her), and offers a prayer of thankfulness 


















» r 



4 . 




• 

\ 

« 




% . 





♦ 



I 





ft 








% ' 


# • 


f * 


ft 


ft 


«* 



•«’ ft 

• * 



^ « 


•I 



I 


ft 


A STARTLING REVELATION 


17; 


to the Ruler of all. Her father is safe. She will 
soon be in his arms, her head resting upon the 
loving breast. 

“ I feel so happy,” she cries, through her tears — 
tears of joy. “ And, oh, so hungry,” she adds. 

“ I will see that you are supplied with food at 
once,” the detective cries, eagerly. “ Our friend 
here,” pointing to the bear, “will furnish fresh 
meat.” 

He hurries to the entrance of the cave. 

She calls him back. 

“ I never ate bear’s meat,” she says, doubtfully. 

“ Oh, you’ll like it. It is the one redeeming 
feature of the animal,” and he hurries out. 

She hears him calling some one. 

“Ned! come here,” she hears his manly voice 
ringing out. 

He returns, accompanied by a handsome young 
fellow. She notices, for the first time, that one 
arm is hung m a sling. 

“ Have you hurt your arm? ” she asks, anx- 
iously. 

He laughs. 

“ Oh, scratched it up a little. The bear did not 
do it,” he quickly adds, as he sees her eyes invol- 
untarily glance at the carcass. 

“ I am so sorry,” she murmurs. 

“ Don’t worry yourself about it,” he cries. 
“ Here, Ned, cut off some choice steaks from Mr, 
Bear, and broil them. I am slightly hungry 
myself. ” 


Mexican Bill 12 


178 


MEXICAN BILL 


The cowboy sets about his work, and Bill, escort- 
ing the girl to the open air, leaves him to build the 
fire and prepare the meal in the cave. They reach 
the entrance, and the detective, glancing out over 
the expanse of prairie, gives utterance to a cry of 
astonishment, and quickly draws her back out of 
sight. 

“ What is it? ” she murmurs. 

“ There is some one coming toward us. By gad! 
the ponies are in plain sight. They will be 
sure ” 

She follows the direction of his eyes. Yes. A 
solitary horseman is rapidly drawing near. They 
stand and watch the approaching figure for some 
time; then Bill cries out: 

“ Pepita! What brings her here? ” 

He walks out, and waits for the wife of Valdoso 
to approach. She is still clad in male attire, and 
is riding rapidly. In five minutes she is by his 
side, and dismounts. He clasps both her hands in 
his own. 

“ What brings you here? ” he asks, eagerly. 

“ Mordaunt Daggett has escaped, and I came to 
warn you.” 

She speaks excitedly. 

The detective staggers in amazement. 

“Escaped! How can that be?” 

“ He was placed in charge of two of his uncle’s 
teamsters. He must have bribed them; at any rate, 
an hour after you had gone, he had disappeared; 
where, no one can offer any explanation.” 

The detective notices that the face of Millicent 


A STARTLING REVELATION 1 79 

has grown deathly pale,- she is trembling like a 
leaf. 

“ Fear not,” he murmurs; “ I will protect you.” 

Pepita glides to her side. 

“ You remember me, do you not? I am, or was, 
the wife of Juan Valdoso. You would scarcely 
recognize me in this garb.” 

Millicent takes her outstretched hand. 

I am glad to see you,” she murmurs. 

“ We will see that harm does not come to you,” 
cries the Spanish woman. " Your cousin will 
hardly come here to claim you ” 

“ Breakfast is ready!” announced Ned, from the 
cave. 

“ Welcome sound,” cries Bill. “I suppose you 
have your appetite with you? ” he asks, roguishly, 
of Millicent. 

“ I think I can enjoy the meal,” she answers. 

They enter, and are soon devouring the flesh of 
the bear, which had so nearly ended the girl’s life. 
The detective is silent during the meal. He is 
thinking of the news brought by Pepita; wonder- 
ing where the craven has fled. He does not feel 
much alarm over the fact, but it makes him furi- 
ous to think that the scoundrel has managed to get 
away. 

“ He must be brought to justice,” he thinks. 

“ I will never rest until I hunt him down.” 

His face reflects his thoughts; for his eyes flash 
ominously, his brows contract in a frown. 

“You are thinking of Mordaunt Daggett/^ 


i8o 


MEXICAN BILL 


whispers Pepita, unheard by Millicent, who is 
chatting with Ned. 

“ Yes, the scoundrel! ” 

“ You are eager to bring him to justice? ” 

“ I am impatient to be on my way.” 

" I have something to tell you before you start 
upon his track,” she says, significantly. 

He starts; impressed by her manner. 

“ Another mystery? ” he asks. 

“ No, a confession.” 

Millicent turns at this moment, and they say no 
more. 

The meal is finished; they leave the cave. In 
the shadow of the rocks they rest. The ponies 
need recuperation ; they have traveled far, and the 
detective knows they will need several hours’ rest 
before they will be in a condition to return. 

Millicent, who is worn out by the terrible expe- 
riences of the past few days, finds it impossible to 
keep her gentle eyes open, she is so sleepy. 

With a slight laugh, she tells Bill of her feeling, 
and he spreads a blanket upon the grass, bidding 
her sleep without fear. 

I am near you,” he says. 

He stands by her side until the beautiful eyes 
close, and the soft, regular breathing indicates 
sound repose; then he turns to Pepita, who is by 
his side. 

“ I will hear your confession now,” he says, with 
a light laugh. 

She does not join him in the expression of mirth. 
Her face is grave, her manner disturbed. The 


A STARTLING REVELATION l8l 

cowboy, Ned, is performing some slight task about 
the saddles, and they are alone. 

“ It is no light matter,” she begins. “ The feel- 
ing of friendship you have for me now may undergo 
a change when you hear what I have to say. But 
remember I did it for the best. I never intended 
that you should know it, but the circumstances of 
the past few days have made it necessary for me 
to tell you.” 

He looks down upon her in surprise. What is 
coming? 

“ Let us sit down,” he says. ” We need rest.” 

In the shadow of the rock, they sit down. After 
a moment’s hesitation, she speaks. “ You remem- 
ber the morning I saved you from death at the 
‘ Tower of the Sun.’ You told me that you allowed 
Mordaunt Daggett to escape because he was your 
cousin. You would not destroy him, because the 
warm blood of kindred flowed through your 
veins. ” 

” Yes. I remember.” 

“ You would not have hesitated if it had been 
otherwise, if he had not been your relation? ” 

The face of the man grows dark. “ No,” he 
answers, sternly. “ I would have killed him like a 
snake.” 

” Mordaunt Daggett is not your cousin! ” She 
speaks earnestly. 

He half rises. “ Not my cousin! What do you 
mean?” 

“ You are not Hugh Daggett's son. ” 

He looks upon her in amazement. “ Speak! 


i 82 


MEXICAN BILL 


Explain!” he cries. “Your husband said so. 
Even you spoke of it, you spoke of my signing 
the paper, made mention of my being heir to the 
fortune.” 

“ True, I said all this; for I knew at that time it 
would be unwise, extremely dangerous, to speak 
the truth. I might have allowed you to go on, 
thinking yourself the son of the man who was mur- 
dered by Pietro Alvarez; but all would have been 
known when the tin box was opened, for in it is 
my confession, placed there unknown to my hus- 
band, who would have killed me if he had known. 

“ I should have kept my secret until the day of 
my death, had not Valdoso told you all in his greed 
to grasp this fortune.” 

He sees she is speaking earnestly, truthfully. 
He is eager to hear the rest. 

“ If I am not Hugh Daggett’s son, whose son am 
I? ” he cries. 

“ You are the son of Don Alfonzo Ascariti, a 
nobleman of Spain, and my husband. I am your 
mother. ” 

He hears the words, but they seem to him as 
though coming from afar off. She my mother! 
He looks up to the sky, out upon the prairie, then 
turns to her. 

She is looking at him wistfully, the large, dark 
eyes full of love and tenderness. 

“ I am your mother,” she repeats. 

He cannot understand. 

“ How can this be?” he cried, in a maze. She 
grows sad, grieved because he shows no signs of 


A STARTLING REVELATION 1 83 

love, only dumb, anxious curiosity, a desire to be 
assured. 

“ I will tell you,” she murmurs. “ I have told 
you how my husband, your father, met his death. 
I need not repeat it. You have also heard that the 
young wife of Hugh Daggett died in giving birth 
to a baby boy. We gave it all the care possible, 
mother Barbara and I; but, despite our nursing and 
care, the little thing died a few days later. An hour 
after it had drawn its last feeble breath, I became a 
mother. I knew it was coming. For months I had 
carefully concealed the fact from Valdoso. I knew 
that, in his passion, his hatred for Don Alfonzo, 
that he would destroy the infant. So I kept it from 
him. As I lay upon the couch with you, my son, 
nursing at my breast, with mother Barbara by my 
side, holding the little corpse of Hugh Daggett’s 
child, the thought came to me that I could keep 
my child near me by claiming that he was the other, 
Valdoso not knowing that the infant was dead. I 
whispered my thoughts to mother Barbara. She 
agreed to assist me in carrying out my plans. The 
little dead baby was buried at night, and you grew 
up as the son of Hugh Daggett, receiving a mother’s 
care by stealth. The rest you know.” 

Now he begins to realize it. It must be so. 

“ You forgive me for what I have done,” the 
mother whispers, “ forgive me for all these years 
you have lived in ignorance of your parentage? ” 

He makes no reply. He is thinking. “ I have 
suffered,” he says at last, his voice sounding 
strange. 


MEXICAN BILL 


184 

“ God knows / have suffered,” she cries. ** Is 
it nothing for a mother to put from her her child? 
is it nothing to live all these years away from him, 
knowing he lives, knowing he is eager to hunt 
down the very man who is his mother’s husband; 
and, yes, even likely to class her with the brute 
she cannot help but love in spite of all? Is all this 
nothing, Alfonzo? ” 

“Alfonzo.” Restarts. 

“ I had given you your father’s name, even In 
your infancy.” 

There is a struggle taking place in his heart, 
but he cannot long hold out against that eager 
look in the dark eyes. He rises to his feet, stretches 
out his uninjured arm. 

“ I forgive you, mother,” he cries, with a glad 
cry; the beautiful woman is clasped to his breast. 
The mother has found her son. 

The report of a pistol startles them — a pistol- 
shot and a scream. They turn, and see the cow- 
boy, Ned, holding a smoking revolver in his hand, 
while, writhing in the agonies of death, at the feet 
of Millicent Daggett, is the form of the wretched 
man who had plotted for such high stakes and lost 
— Mordaunt Daggett. 

The girl is bending over him, too horrified to rise 
to her feet, screaming in a wild, terrified way. 

They hurry to him. His eyes are already be- 
coming glazed. He dies, as they look upon his 
haggard face, without one word. 

“ I was splicing my lariat,” explains Ned, when 
I happened to look up, and seen that feller crawl- 


CONCLUSION 


185 


ing on his belly like a snake toward the gal. He 
looked like a devil, his eyes were glaring at her. 
She was sleeping, not knowing anything about it. 
Suddenly I seen he had a long knife in his hand, he 
raised it to stab her, and I find I always was a 
good pistol shot.” 

Tenderly Pepita raises the screaming, frantic girl 
and soothes her. 

“ He meant to kill you,” she says. 

I know. But it is so horrible,” and Millicent 
turns away with a shudder. 

They find a pony grazing on the other side of the 
rock. He has been ridden by Mordaunt Daggett; 
he has come upon them unseen. 

They bury him upon the prairie, Ned piling some 
rocks upon the wide grave which he has dug out 
with knife and hands to prevent the coyotes from 
digging it up. 

The sun is setting ifi the west as they turn their 
ponies’ heads once more toward the camp. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

It is nearly morning when the little cavalcade 
drives into camp. Arthur Daggett is sleeping; he 
is worn out, poor old man, and Bartholomew and 
Bassett are following his example. 

But the clamorous voices of the cowboys, as they 
welcome the return of their chief, with the girl, 


MEXICAN BILL 


1 86 

awaken them, and soon Millicent is clasped to her 
father’s breast, sobbing for very joy. 

In a low tone. Bill relates the sad but merited 
fate of Mordaunt. 

“ By Jehoshaphat! he deserved it,” cries Barthol- 
omew. Bassett only compresses his lips. 

It is a severe blow to the old gentleman. He 
has loved the boy as a son. His kind old heart 
aches as he hears of his treachery, proven beyond 
a doubt, hears of his horrible death. 

“ There is not one left but you, my darling, to 
inherit all this wealth,” he murmurs to the idol of 
his heart. “ And, when I am gone, the last of our 
family will have passed away.” The sad events of 
the week have grieved him sorely. He turns away 
from the group, leading his child by the hand. 

He wishes to be alone with her. Camp is 
broken up as soon as possible. It has been the 
scene of crime and bloodshed, and all are eager to 
leave it and its painful memories behind. They 
travel by easy stages to Santa Fe, and, once more 
beneath a civilized roof, Bassett feels himself again, 
while Bartholomew smokes his cigar with greater 
complacence. The tin box is opened. The de- 
tective, who is present, takes possession of the 
paper which contains his brother’s confessions. It 
is not necessary for the world to know his story. 
The contents of the box prove, beyond doubt, the 
death of Hugh Daggett, if further proof were neces- 
sary, and, after lingering a few weeks at the com- 
modious hotel, Arthur Daggett takes the train for 


CONCLUSION 187 

New York, on his way to England, accompanied 
by his daughter and Isaac Bassett. 

Mexican Bill presses a fond kiss upon the lips of 
the fair Millicent as the train moves out of the 
station. No one objects; it has all been settled. 
The father has given his consent to the marriage of 
Don Alfonzo Ascariti and his daughter. The 
detective has informed him of his rank and title, 
withholdingfrom him, however, the -manner in 
which he obtained his information. 

He is to be in London in two months. He has 
business to transact in Spain before his marriage. 

The train moves out, and Bartholomew grasps 
the hand of the brave detective as it is lost to 
view. 

“ Well, it is all settled, old fellow, and, by 
Jehoshaphat! you are in luck. How’s your arm?” 

“ Coming on finely. I leave for Spain to- 
morrow.” 

Good luck to you.” 

He leaves him. 

But why write further ? You know how these 
things end. You know how Mexican Bill succeeded. 
The hero of a novel always succeeds in the end. 
He marries the heroine, and lives happy ever 
after. 

Mexican Bill married Millicent Daggett, and, at 
the death of her father, succeeded to the vast for- 
tune of Algernon Daggett; and, I might say, he 
made good use of it. 


FINIS. 


MAY AND JUNE. 


A ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION. 


By EDWARD R. ROE, 

AOTHOR OF "FROM THE BEATEN PATH," "BROUGHT TO BAY," ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED. 


“ To even the most cursory readers of the works of Edward R. Roe there is 
a peculiar charm in his writings which enchains their attention without their 
exactly knowing why. He indulges in no elaborate description of scenery, there 
is nothing deeply analytical in his methods, nor does he affect fervid word- 
painting; but he tells his story in a simple, quaint manner, which captivates 
those possessed of a correct literary taste, and pleases by its novelty even those 
whose intellectual appetite ordinarily requires the stimulus of highly-colored 
pictures and sensational episodes. In “May and June’* we find a delightful 
picture of semi-civilized life in revolutionary times, through which a thread of 
rational romanticism is threaded naturally and with no straining after effect. 
There are scenes in the book which stir the blood of the reader and others which 
excite his sympathies, but there are no scalping-knife or roasting-at-the-stake 
horrors, nor is there a line of mawkish sentimentality. The story is essentially 
healthy. It is a tale of border life embodying a prettily-told love story, and 
cannot but commend itself to every reader.” — Paterson Morning Call. 

“ May and June ” should be read by every one who enjoys a well-written, inter- 
esting and instructive novel. It is one of the best novels of the kind published 
for some time.” — The Earth, New York. 

“Edward R. Roe is never dull, and it may be said of “May and June” it 
has no dull pages.” — Chicago Inter Ocean. 

“A story of romance and adventure with delightful illustrations and, indeed, 
a well told storj^.’’ — Geyer's Stationer. 

“The story is readable, and has striking merits. — American Magazine, 

“A historical tale of great interest.” — Syracuse Herald. 

“A story of much interest, modestly told.” — Chicago Times. 

“A thrilling story that will greatly interest the lov«)r of pure fiction.”— 
Attburn Dispatch. 

“ A thoroughly good story.” — Erie Herald. 

“ It is an interesting story.” — Indianapolis yournal. 

“A delightful story.” — Philadelphia Pamphlet. 

“The story is written in an easy, graceful style, and is well worth reading,** 
—Hartford Evening Post. 

“The story is clean and pure, with a wealth of romance artfully interwoven 
with the actual history of that eventful period.” — Illinois State yournal. 

“An exciting and well told story of frontier life. The interest of the story is 
forcibly and admirably sustained to the end.” — New London Telegraph. 

“An exciting story of an exciting period.” — Grand Rapids Evening Leader. 

“The story will be read with much pleasure by many thousands.” — Balti- 
more American. 

“The author has surpassed himself in this work, and if he never writes 
another line of fiction, as a novelist he has made himself immortal.” — Springfield 
Monitor. ^ 


lAIRD & LEE, Publishers, CHICAGO, ILL 

Price, in Paper Covers, 25 cents; elegantly bound in Extra Silk 
Cloth, Embossed on side and back in Ink and Gold, 75 cents. 
Sent postpaid on receipl_of price. 


The Millionaire Tramp; 

Or. EXILED BY CRIME. 

By R. G. GIVINS, 

Author of *‘Thb Unwritten Wiia," bto. 


** A breezy, well written story.” — Chicago Ttmca, 

“ It is a pure, romantic relation of great interest and very great literary 
merit. — Chicago Mail. 

"An exceedingly interesting story.” — Toronto Mail. 

** It is a work that has come to stay. The strange life of the old tramp, whc 
knocked about the country for forty years to discover at last he was a millionaire, 
is pathetic enough to touch the heart of all readers. — Chicago Inter Ocean. 

‘‘The Millionaire Tramp,” a story written by Robert C. Givins, has attracted 
considerable notice throughout the United States. It now appears that the 
original of the Millionaire Tramp was a Torontonian of eminently respectable 
parentage, who forty years ago was a promising son, liberally educated, and of 
considerable skill as a civil engineer. The young man left his home and wan- 
dered about the world a tramp fbr forty years, sleeping in bams, under side- 
walks, etc. The story is told from beginning to end in a bright, vigorous style. 
The tramp’s story of his life is graphically portrayed. The idea of a man of 
refinement and education leading such a life as the one described, lifts the book 
out of the realm of the common novel and makes it the creator of a nev/ and 
strange character, one not surpassed in history even by ” The Wandering Jew,” 
‘‘The Tichborne Claimant,” or ‘‘The Rake’s Progress.” The tramp does not 
discover his wealth till on his deathbed, when Charles Landsdown, ‘‘the only 
friend he has on earth,” procures a deed from him of property, of which he had 
no knowledge until it was too late to enjoy it. Mr. Givins has also written the 
‘‘Unwritten Will,” a novel that has attained a large sale through the States.— 
Toronto Telegram. 


Bound in Extra English Silk Cloth, Embossed in Ink and Gold. 
FVice, 75 cents. Sent by mail postpaid on receipt of prtoe. 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishm. CHICAGO 


A DARK 



Or, The Mystery of Runlet Grove. 

By EVA CATHERINE CLAPP, 

Author of ** Her Bright Future,** etc. 


I LLUSTRATED. 


“ An excellent story, full of movement and characterized by a good plot. 
The reader is carried along with a rush.” — Baltimore Sunday News, 

Bright, interesting and well worked out.” — Baltimore American. 

“ It is an American romance well supplied with stirring incidents and inter- 
esting, well drawn characters. The plot is well arranged, while all the scenes 
lead to results' at once dramatic and satisfactory. The author writes with great 
spirit, and has produced a romance which cannot fail to achieve a very brilliant 
success.” — Albany Evening Post. 

“ A very readable and deeply absorbing new novel is ‘ A Dark Secret.’ It 
is a book that, beside affording entertainment, will well repay perusal.” — Neva 
Brunswick Daily Home News. 

” ‘ A Dark Secret ’ is a novel which possesses power and interest without 
being exciting. There is a sweet and natural love story ajid plenty of picturesque 
and entertaining characters besides those who manipulate the dark secret to the 
discomfort of innocence and beauty. However, virtue is rewarded, and vice 
punished in a very satisfactory and pleasing style, and the book leaves the 
reader in an agreeable frame of mind.” — New London Morning Telegraph. 

“ ‘A Dark Secret' is a well conceived, well planned and well written story 
of Illinois life. It sketches character very closely. The love drama between the 
refined young teacher and professor, Dunraven, and the brave and original little 
orphan, Phebe, is well sketched throughout. The story will repay reading.” — 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, CHICAGO, ILL. 


Price, in Paper Covers, 25 cents ; elegantly bound in Cloth, Ink 
and Gold, 75 cents. Sent postpaid on receipt of price. 


From the Beaten Path 

By nDWJlRD R. ROB, 

- Author of "May and June," "Brought to Bay," etc. 


IlALUS'TR.A'TEiD. 


“ ‘From the Beaten Path/ by Edward R. Roe, is a novel of much merit, just 
placed on the book stands. Mr. Roe is a rising young novelist whose work is 
receiving much attention. This, his latest success, should be read by all lovers 
of a good story.” — Detroit Sunday Sun. 

“ Laird & Lee, of Chicago, have just sent a new romance of very great merit, 
entitled, ‘ From the Beaten Path,’ by Edward R. Roe, author of ‘ May and June.' 
The plot is very interesting. All the incidents are American, full of vigor and 
interesting. The story is admirably told and reaches a finale in a manner at once 
artistic and effective. ’ — Albany Evening Post, 

” ‘From the Beaten Path,’ by Edward R. Roe, is a new book just from the 
press. It is a pleasant story, giving an idea of village life in Illinois, and show- 
ing how far professional jealousy can reach, even in small communities. It dips 
slightly into theology, has a sermon on the doctrine of Gall, and gives pleasing 
descriptions of a big sea sick, and a delightful entrance to the Golden Gate, all 
to surround a pretty love story.” — Fargo Sunday Argus. 

‘‘ It is a very entertaining story.” — Columbus Dispatch. 

‘‘A stirring romance in the pages of which those wearied of the sentimental 
novels of the day will find refreshment and delight.”, — Baltimore Sunday News. 

‘‘ It a story of thrilling interest.” — New Brunswick Home News. 

‘‘ It is -aphic, vigorous and not unreasonable in plot and detail.” — Albany 
Sunday Press. 

‘‘ The characters are strongly drawn and the story well toXi.." —Wheeling 
Daily Register. 

‘‘ It is well written and interesting.” — The School Journal^ New York. 

‘‘It is certainly a most interesting and exciting story.”— Courier. 

‘‘ It is bright and vigorous and its characters full of originality, and will 
amply repay those who secure it.” — Albany Union Review. 



Price, in Paper Covers 25 cents ; bound in Extra English Silk 
Cloth, Emborssed on side and back in Ink and Qold, 75 cents. 
Ser>t by mail on receipt of priee.^ 




T£3:iI^3D EIDZTIOlNr 


THE BEST POULTRY BOOK EVER PUBLISHED 


POULTRY CULTURE 

How to Raise, Mate, Manage and Judge Thorough-bred Fowls. 

By I. K. ZS'EIiCH. 

Third Edition, with supplemental chapter on the preparation of 
poultry for exhibition. 

EVERY POULTRY RAISER should have this book. It contains 
the ripest results of thirty years’ experience and observation. What this 
book does not tell about the culture of chickens, turkeys, ducks and geese 
is not worth knowing. It is the only recognized authority on mating and 
judging thoroughbred fowls. The book contains 438 pages and 50 illus- 
trations, beautifully bound in cloth, black, silver and gold. It makes an 
elegant book for any library. Read the following, among the many 
opinions of the press. 

Mr. Felch has been a well-known and recognized authority on poultry 
for many years, and this book will add to his reputation. It is the best 
book ever published on the subject it treats upon, and should be in the 
hands of all who wish to keep fully up to the times in poultry raising. — 
American Poultry Journal., Chicago, 

Mr. Felch deals with the matter-of-fact, every-day experience in the 
poultry-yard and in the show-room. From introduction to end, every 
page of this book has some practical and useful information for novice, 
amateur and veteran. We consider “ Poultry Culture ” the best work on 
the subject ever issued from the American press . — National Poultry Moni- 
tor., Springfield., Ohio. 

It seems to be prepared with a view to thorough practical use and to be 
of very great value to all who engage, whether largely or only in a small 
way, in poultry culture . — Chicago Daily Times. 

It is an ably written aud handsomely issued volume, just arrived from 
America, and its title, comprehensive though it appears, hardly expresses 
the great scope of matter dealt with by the author. The work will help 
anyone wishing to keep fowls to do so in an economic manner. — Morn- 
ing Post, London, Eng. 

It is from the pen of one of the most successful and experienced poultry- 
men in the country. It has no superior in its class, and is complete, tmirt- 
worthy, perspicuous and practical . — The Independent, New York. 

The whole book has an eminently practical and sensible tcaae, and we 
think it will be found a safe counselor . — Cultivator and Country 
maUf AHxiny, N, Y. 

•Mit 9oeTMio ON RECEIPT OF PRICE. LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

BurUMNG, C44IOAGO, ILU 





« ^ - • . * #fv> '^'‘ . * •. •* -“is ' 

■• - . ' ■ ■^- ■* 

- • • . ^ ^ *. • •-jT •-_ - . * . • • "I 

■■ ■’ - ' 


V M‘ 




- ♦ ( 


• i ^ 



■»-. 

V. 




•.-' .•> ^ 


... * , y.yV 




•V, 

V ► 




\ 

r • 
A ^ 


•>• t\. 


S .''• ' r 

t ^ 


/ 


- * «'-•■ 
»* 

M. 




• 


^ - f 


: * •- 


^ * t 
^ . 




» t • 


-ri • - - 


p'j* 
- '4 

• t 


» t • 


^ tg ^ 

A- ■■ ^ ^- 



• - . <* 




;• 






‘'•r . 


v: 


t ‘ 


'i:- 


■■'• J 



■' 

^ . . “ 




•S. •• (.- 



«t.r :.W . • 









• ■ .V 

' 4 


~ t i 


■t -■ 


-. « 




• *; » ' 



^ ' 




• ^ 




. • ■» 

• •s 


*.' •' *^' 1 ^ » 

-'•if!:.' ■ 


rtW > * '. -v "" t*" 


i ~ 


. r 


r*i 

t 






4 • 


^ i- 'c* . ♦V ' ‘ifc. . '. '9 r 


> I' 




. j 



< I 


✓ • 





. ^ 

. I 




# 

t 


^ M-.C 


r 


4/ 

/ * 










^ -f V' . **. 

r : • ' ^- V ■ * • - . 


. ' *4 . » 





» 


«• 


/. 1%. • 


.f' 


':a v:-- - 




.s 


* *• > 

• - >.v- •■■ 

J ^ -7 f 


. 


. .4, -, : . 

.'•J ^ 

- „■ I- 


^ * 


nfcs. 


t » 


■« 

** 

<■* 



V I 


•O' 


• 


» ■ 


• ,4 » ^ 



t w 


■#.r, -- 


^ -- 

« 

» • 

- 4*’ ■ - • 

> - ‘ick 




S » 


> , . 




. « 


\ *• 








'at. ' J * 


I?»’ 


• ^ 






•• • 

. / 


in 








6olid 

Vestibule 


*al l aboar d’ 


LLARS 

^CyFFs 


BEST MADE ANYWHERE- ONE PRICE EVERYWHERI 


The Handsomest Train 


IN THE WORLD 


RUNS DAILY BETWEEN 

Chicago and Kansas City 

VIA 

Santa Fe Route. 


♦ 











